Surgery Is a Bitch

Surgery is a bitch.

Written Mar 27, 2012 8:17pm by Amber Gannon Medina

Dear Mirabelle,

I hope some day you will read this. Maybe one day after I am gone, you will be looking through my journals (thinking I am a weirdo I am sure), and you will happen upon this entry. An entry that was written on your 5 months and 10 day birthday. An entry that was written when I couldn't decide between feeling utter panic and fear and complete certainty things would happen just the way there are supposed to. Today is your surgery. It will not be easy. 

We got to the hospital at 6am. OK, it was really 6:30 and I really felt guilty about that. I thought about staying with you last night, but realized I wouldn't sleep at all, and I really needed sleep if I was going to be there for you the next day. So we left and came back after a quick morning routine of teeth brushing and granola bar eating. 

You were sleeping so peacefully and the nurse had to wake you up in order to scrub your chest and belly. You hated it. Of course you did. Who would want to be woken up that early for a cold bath and bright lights? Not Mira the fierce! But after your bath we got to hold you and you fell back asleep. I worked my hardest to stay in that moment, and for once I did it. Force once all I felt was the softness of your skin, the weight of your body and the rhythm of your breath. I loved you so much that moment that my heart broke and all my love emptied into you. I admit I gave you some advice, and then I felt ridiculous, because ME give YOU advice?? That's a joke, right? You're the one that should be telling me what to do! 

It wasn't as hard letting you go this time. That might sound strange, but its true. It wasn't that I loved you less, in fact I love you even more deeply than when you were first born. It had more to do with the mantras I had been trying to maintain in my head for the past week. My mantras have been on repeat-Mira, you need this surgery to LIVE! and "Hospital Life is no Life". Mira, you can't live this way indefinitely, so when I say it was easier to let you go this is what I mean. 

I want you to breathe fresh air, take walks with me outside, listen to REAL birds and crickets (not noise machine impersonations), eat, swim...Mira, you need to see there is more to life than a hospital bed and a 25 foot hallway. 

Your surgery went pretty well. I surprised me because you always like to throw a wrench into anything going smoothly. I am secretly terrified and proud of this part of your personality. Its so admirable and feisty, I just wish it didn't put you in so much danger at times. Unfortunately, I have mother's intuition now, and I knew your surgery couldn't go without a hitch.

However, we tried to create a nice atmosphere during a very stressful time. Your Nana and Dwight, Aunt Katie, Memaw and Grandma and Grandpa Gannon all came to hold vigil during your 8-9 hour surgery (I say 8-9 because I don't quite know when it started or ended. They took you at 8am and we didn't see you come out of the OR until 7:30pm). We had snacks and pizza and our own "private room", which is like being in first class on a plane-you definitely will never be able to go back to coach.

Everything went pretty well until you were done. And that's when your vitals went down. They got rid of what they thought was causing you distress and your vitals got better. Then they got worse. 

We were able to see you go down the hallway-I got to kiss your swollen cheek and tell you to hang in there. You didn't look like you. I felt like you were hovering somewhere close, but you weren't in that body of yours.....Though I felt sure you could hear me.

Maybe you know this as well-but something happens to your body and mind when you go through something like this. It isn't pleasant, but it helps you get through a really difficult time. You step away from what is happening, you put distance between you and the awful feelings that crop up. Your mind wanders and hours go by before you realize where you are or what you are doing. It is best not to operate any motor vehicles during this time. That was kind of a joke, I am thinking you won't find it funny....

So this day wasn't horrible for us, it isn't unbearable at the moment. It is fuzzy and laced with panic that hits me at the worst times. 

I struggle to write this letter at this very moment. And why is that? I am at home and I am waiting for a call from your nurse Jaci. You are at the hospital and you are struggling and you are sick. I hope you know that this is where I am, and if you need me, you will know where to find me. 

Mira, you are as unpredictable as the wind or the path of a hurricane, but you are also just as strong. I am loving you here, at home with only half a heart. My other half is with you. And if you were born with only half a heart, that is OK, because mine is always at your disposal. You are fierce, you are courageous and strong and an inspiration to so many people. You can do this. You will read this when you are older, and you will say-mom, I always knew I could, why did you worry? 

Mira, don't be afraid. Let god hold your hand. I know that you know what you need to do, and I trust in it. Please know that I love you more than anything, and I am with you in this fight.