My old lady, Gertrude

Tomorrow Oli has surgery…again. Every time she has to go through this I think, “For sure this is the last time. Surely she won’t need anything else done.”  I think it Every. Single. Time. And then we have to do something else. Something comes up that only can be done under anesthesia. 

Tomorrow’s surgery is no big deal.  I know that it’s no big deal. They will not be cutting into her. Many, many people have gone through MUCH worse with their children. I know that too.  Oli will only be having an ABR (hearing screen) done and possibly tubes put back in her ears.

But…I am terrified.

 I have this wicked old lady, Gertrude that lives in my mind.  (Wait….stay with me here.) She likes to whisper nasty, horrifying things in my ear.  Remember worst-case-scenario-girl from previous blog posts?  The one who is sure the power will fail during Oli’s surgery and her arm will end up falling off?  Gertrude tells me these things. “Yoo-Hoo! Shaaannoooon! What if the anesthesiologist is a drug addict and gives her WAY too much medication and she never wakes up?” This is not all that far-fetched. When I had my tonsils out as a child my doctor was an addict and really did give me too much anti-nausea medication. Fortunately it was just that and not too much sedation. (A few years after my surgery he ended up giving a pregnant mommy too much sedation and sadly, she died.)  I just couldn’t control my tongue for hours after surgery. 

What?

Yes it was very, very bizarre. It would pull back towards my throat and then hang out like a dog.  On the drive home my mom kept saying “Shannon. Stop that! It’s not funny.” I told her I couldn’t help it. After I finally convinced her that I wasn’t doing it on purpose she got kind of freaked out. (Hello! Her child had lost all voluntary control of her tongue!) She called the hospital and after looking at my chart the nurse realized that during surgery, I had been given WAY too much medication.  The sticking out tongue thing eventually went away after a few hours.  Thank God!!  What if I had to live the rest of my life like that?  What if I still had no control of my tongue?  Has that ever happened before? I should Google ‘permanent loss of voluntary tongue control’.

Then I start thinking, what if that happens to Oli?

No. I probably shouldn’t Google it.  I don’t want to know.

I’m just nervous. Nervous, nervous, nervous. 

I’m scared because they will be putting her to sleep (obviously that alone provides a whole crap load of things for that old lady to work with), but I’m also scared of the hearing screen results.  What if it’s NOT just fluid in her ears? What if that doesn’t explain why her eardrum isn’t moving? What if it’s something congenital?  What if she’s NEVER been able to hear well out of that ear?  I’ve spent her whole life providing a lot of information auditorily. What if I’ve been doing it all wrong? It would definitely explain a lot if it turns out that she really isn’t hearing well.

No matter what, I have to try and ignore the millions of bad scenarios that are racing through my head. (Shut up Gertrude!)  I have to put aside my own fear and step up for Oli.  And I have to just keep moving forward whatever the results of that test show.

"Don't dwell on what went wrong. Instead, focus on what to do next.  Spend your energies on moving forward toward finding the answer."  -Denis Waitley