Jenna had a minor procedure done about a couple of weeks ago. She's totally fine and Mike and I survived but I am just now able to write about it. In my 4+ years of being a parent, it was one of the hardest days for us. Watching our baby put on a hospital gown and receive general anesthesia f-ing sucked (to put it mildly).
Now my little girl? She's a rock star. Handled the whole day amazingly well. From understanding that she wasn't allowed to eat until after it was over (which was hard for her since she's a 'wake up and eat' kid) to 'blowing up the green balloon' with a mask on (the gas to put her to sleep) to coming to after the procedure by simply saying "Mommy, I'm soooo hungry."
Me? Not a rock star. Only one of us was allowed into the operating room with her. And even though I knew I would be the more emotional one, I needed to feel somewhat in control so I went in. I
"Blow up the balloon honey!"
"You're doing a great job!"
"That's it! Watch the balloon get bigger!"
"Keep it up - you're awesome"
"I know it's smelly, but you can do it!"
Me? I just held her hands as the tears streamed down my face. I could.not.speak. At some point someone put a hand on my shoulder and said, "She's sleeping, give her a kiss" and walked me out.
It felt like I was watching her for hours, but it was really only a minute or two. I found Mike in the waiting room and lost it. I felt (and still feel) awful that she couldn't hear my voice comforting her, but the words just wouldn't come.
Luckily, those professionals were amazing (and comforting) and all she remembers is the stinky gas (apparently it smells really bad). She's one tough cookie.
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