My family is very accustomed to going to the doctor. Seems like there is something always going on. You hear this often, but we are seriously not your typical family. We have the most crazy things happen, and we are the kind of family that one of us will get a paper-cut and it will get infected and need surgery to fix it. In the 10 months since Brittany has passed away, we have had to take John into the ER for what we were afraid was a stroke (less than a month after taking Brittany there) Kaitlyn has had to have surgery on a broken leg, and several doctor visits.
Some of these I will post about later, but the most recent "event" was yesterday. My youngest has always had issues with her ears. Because of them, she was quite delayed as a baby. As an example she didn't roll over at all until she was 9 months old. She had tubes put in at 2, but continued to have lots of problems. Yesterday I took her in to have her Adenoids removed and new tubes put in. I was grateful it was being done at the surgical center rather than the hospital. The hospital is still too difficult for me to be able to handle for too long, no matter what area of the hospital I am in. But surgery is still surgery. I was actually doing quite well until we were in the back, getting her prepped. The nurse was going over all the little details and disclaimers they have to warn us about that everyone always tunes out. During this tune out I thought to myself there is always that risk of not waking up... She has to wake up!! What if she doesn't??.... I can't... I CAN'T do this again!!!... I stared at my sweet little girl. She held her fuzzy little blanket she has loved since the day she was born, and clutched tight her "Brittany pillow", with her eyes wide and trusting, trying to understand everything that was being said. In my mind I plead, and begged to her... Please wake up... You can't fall asleep and die.. Please, please! Please wake up for me! She hadn't even laid down yet, and already I was afraid I was going to lose her.
I snapped out of the trance I had put myself in, and forced myself to focus. Just as I did this, the nurse commented on the pillow she had brought with her. So nonchalantly she replied, "oh, my sister died and someone made this for us." For a 7 year old this was all that needed to be said. But what she didn't include was that this pillow was made from the dress we had buried Brittany in. I had cut out the back portion of her dress, so that it wasn't noticeable, and a dear friend used the little bit I could get to make pillows for each of my kids.
These pillows have come to be so precious to us. They continue to rest next to the head of each sleeping child. They are brought to every overnight event. There have been times when it has been forgotten, and as I am about to fall asleep, I hear crying from a daughter because she just can't sleep without it, and has come home to retrieve it. It has become a source of tenderness, and strength.
As I kissed my little girl on her forehead, and they wheeled her back to do their procedure, I fought the tears hoping this wouldn't be my final kiss to my sweet little girl. I watched her little fist grip her pillow. I sat, and I waited. I made the small talk that is expected with other ladies waiting for their little ones as well. My mind was always on my little girl. The relief I felt when I could see into her eyes again, and hear her say my name was overwhelming.
I can never promise my kids that when we go to the doctor they can be fixed and get better. I promised that to Brittany, over and over again, and all it did was turn me into a liar in her last hours. But I can promise I will do everything in my ability to fight for them, and do all I can to protect them.
Some of these I will post about later, but the most recent "event" was yesterday. My youngest has always had issues with her ears. Because of them, she was quite delayed as a baby. As an example she didn't roll over at all until she was 9 months old. She had tubes put in at 2, but continued to have lots of problems. Yesterday I took her in to have her Adenoids removed and new tubes put in. I was grateful it was being done at the surgical center rather than the hospital. The hospital is still too difficult for me to be able to handle for too long, no matter what area of the hospital I am in. But surgery is still surgery. I was actually doing quite well until we were in the back, getting her prepped. The nurse was going over all the little details and disclaimers they have to warn us about that everyone always tunes out. During this tune out I thought to myself there is always that risk of not waking up... She has to wake up!! What if she doesn't??.... I can't... I CAN'T do this again!!!... I stared at my sweet little girl. She held her fuzzy little blanket she has loved since the day she was born, and clutched tight her "Brittany pillow", with her eyes wide and trusting, trying to understand everything that was being said. In my mind I plead, and begged to her... Please wake up... You can't fall asleep and die.. Please, please! Please wake up for me! She hadn't even laid down yet, and already I was afraid I was going to lose her.
I snapped out of the trance I had put myself in, and forced myself to focus. Just as I did this, the nurse commented on the pillow she had brought with her. So nonchalantly she replied, "oh, my sister died and someone made this for us." For a 7 year old this was all that needed to be said. But what she didn't include was that this pillow was made from the dress we had buried Brittany in. I had cut out the back portion of her dress, so that it wasn't noticeable, and a dear friend used the little bit I could get to make pillows for each of my kids.
These pillows have come to be so precious to us. They continue to rest next to the head of each sleeping child. They are brought to every overnight event. There have been times when it has been forgotten, and as I am about to fall asleep, I hear crying from a daughter because she just can't sleep without it, and has come home to retrieve it. It has become a source of tenderness, and strength.
As I kissed my little girl on her forehead, and they wheeled her back to do their procedure, I fought the tears hoping this wouldn't be my final kiss to my sweet little girl. I watched her little fist grip her pillow. I sat, and I waited. I made the small talk that is expected with other ladies waiting for their little ones as well. My mind was always on my little girl. The relief I felt when I could see into her eyes again, and hear her say my name was overwhelming.
I can never promise my kids that when we go to the doctor they can be fixed and get better. I promised that to Brittany, over and over again, and all it did was turn me into a liar in her last hours. But I can promise I will do everything in my ability to fight for them, and do all I can to protect them.
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