Surgery & Trying to Learn that the Other Shoe isn't Always About to Drop

Friday morning, Sofia had a minor surgery to remove a mole from her head. It was a surgery I wasn't thrilled with, mainly because it wasn't one I thought she needed. But after three different opinions that all ended in a "better to be safe than sorry" type of prognosis, we ended up having the surgery.

We arrived at George Washington University Hospital at 8:30 a.m. The first person to come into the room was the anesthesiologist who was very sweet and good with Sofia (and with us). There was a whole team of doctors, residents and nurses paying close attention to Sofia, and each one introduced him or herself and asked the same questions about her name and birthday to verify her identity. By the end, Sofia was creating new birth days and years, and I was wondering if the medications were kicking in or if she was really forgetting her birthday.

Before the day of the surgery, Sofia asked a lot of questions like, "Will there be a hole in my head?" and "Will it hurt?" and "Why do I have to have it taken off again?" I could tell she was incredibly anxious, but she put on a really brave face and never let a tear fall. The doctor described her as "stoic."

At one point fairly early on, they let us know that only one parent could go into the operating room with her. Tim said, "It's up to you two." My mind was racing because I didn't want Sofia to feel like she had to choose between us, and I also wasn't sure I was the best parent to go with her. I was worried I'd cry and make her cry. Sofia said, "I want you to come with me, Mommy." I almost started crying just hearing her say that. What a sap I can be! But I knew I had to wear a brave face just for her sake. I asked her if she wanted to sing because she had been singing "You are my sunshine" the night before, and I thought that might get her mind off of things. Tim volunteered that I could sing the "acorn" song, and Sofia agreed. So we went that direction instead. Nothing like a little "I'm a nut, tee-hee, I'm a nut" to make a 7-year-old smile. Speaking of which, both of Sofia's top two teeth are loose, and the nurses were concerned she'd lose the top left tooth while under general anesthesia. She didn't, thank goodness.

We sang one more song together before wheeling the gurney back into the operating room. I was holding her hand and repeating over and over silently in my head like a prayer, "Do not cry. Do not let Sofia see you cry" while they gave her gas to put her to sleep. The second her eyes closed, the tears started coming and wouldn't stop. All I could think was that "5/31/13" would be the date on her headstone and that that was the very last time I would ever look into my daughter's beautiful blue eyes. The nurse (Sarah) was incredibly sweet and hugged me and told me everything would be just fine.

I don't know how to explain my emotions except to say that Sofia has always struck me as an old soul. She is the sweetest child on the planet, and every fiber of my being was scared she'd be taken from this world over something as ridiculous a procedure as this one. I feel blessed to be her mother every single day. I feel the same way about Gabriel, don't get me wrong. It's just that Sofia never felt like a baby. I worry sometimes that she's here to teach some kind of lesson. Like Gabe and I are new souls learning from Sofia and we're only blessed with her for so long. I know that's a crazy thing to write, and I cannot explain what makes me feel that way, and I sincerely hope she and Gabe both long outlive me. I cannot, cannot imagine what parents of truly sick children go through.

Time passed insanely slowly, but finally the doctor came out to let us know that everything went well. He didn't have to shave any part of her head, and he was able to use the dissolvable sutures. When they brought Sofia out, she was already enjoying a popsicle and smiling. She was pretty woozy still from the medications, and she kept putting her hands out in front of her and pointing to the drapes saying, "They're 3-D." Then she asked, "When are they going to take the mole off?" I had to laugh. She had no idea everything was done. And then when she saw the gigantic bandage on her head, she moaned and asked repeatedly why she had to wear it.

They wheeled her outside, and Tim put her in the car. When I got her home, I asked if she wanted me to carry her, and she said, "yes." I got to carry her up the stairs to the condo, and I thought the whole way, "Man, I bet this is the last time she'll ever let me carry her."

Gabe was really worried about his sister, and he asked me a million questions when I picked him up early from after school care. He had wanted to walk home from school so he could be there when she got home, but I had told him he couldn't do that yet. I prepped him for the big bandage on her head, and he was very loving and sweet with her when we got home.

And just like any other weekend morning, the very next morning, Sofia was awake before I was, and when I came downstairs, she was cheering, "Mom, it's June 1st. Do you know what that means? It's your birthday month! Don't look at what I'm working on, Mom; it's a birthday present for you." To say that my daughter makes my day brighter every single day is an understatement. Gabe does too of course, but there's a certain sweetness to Sofia that almost makes me question what I did to deserve such joy. Maybe teenage years are going to be awful? Or maybe I should just learn to accept happiness in my life. The other shoe is not always about to drop, as the saying goes. (I'm a slow learner.) I love both of my babies so much, and I feel so blessed to be their mama.