No Big Deal

Last year about this same time I was forced to have a very difficult discussion with my son. Not certain how much he would understand, I took it slowly, paused occasionally so he could absorb what was said, and gave him the opportunity to ask questions.

I told him about a very major surgery I was to have and that I would be staying at the hospital for a few days. His chin began to quiver as he tried bravely to fight back tears.

But Mom, I don't want you to die.

He couldn't hold them back after saying it. How did I get this so wrong? Why did he think I was going to die? I held him close and assured him that I was definitely coming home alive and well. It broke my heart to see him so distraught at the devastating conclusion he had drawn clearly on his own. That day taught me always to be honest with Ian. He is too smart to be fooled by shallow explanations.

Today we had the chance to revisit that discussion, because next week I will again be having surgery. Not quite as serious this time, but still scary from a kid's point of view. I had planned to wait until after this surgery to tell Ian, only because this time it is an outpatient procedure and I hope to be home before he goes to bed. The issue was forced, however, by an unfotunate set of circumstances, aka: bad timing.

It is fall break this week, so everyone we know is out of town. My pre-op appointment with the nurse was this morning, and I had to drag both kids with me. They are always great when they have to go along to one of the other's appointments. But Mommy isn't supposed to get sick, so Mommy isn't supposed to need to see a doctor. Ian did great because he understood that sometimes you go to the doctor even if you aren't sick. Ainsley...not so much with the understanding.

First, I got to pee in a cup. It was a group effort. Ian helped me spell my name as I wrote it on the side of the cup with a Sharpie pen. He held my purse while I undressed. I did what I had to do - while they both watched intently, checking my aim. My little cheerleader said,

Good peeing, Mom!

I would have been proud, but in trying to subdue my laughter, I spilled some on my hand. Ian reminded me to be sure to wash thoroughly.

Then came the blood draw. Both children wanted to watch, but Ainsley was very concerned that being poked with a needle would hurt. They thought watching Mom's red blood run through a tube into a vile was really cool. Neither of them asked if they could have a turn, so I think the coolness was limited to it happening to someone else.

After hearing me cough (something I caught while on vacation), the nurse was insistant that I have a chest x-ray and EKG today. That meant an extended visit today, but less hassle the rest of the week. The kids and I walked next door to the hospital where they immediately took me into a room and got the ball rolling (yes, I thought that was pretty amazing too).

Ainsley started to get very upset. I gave her my shirt and bra to hold while I put on the hospital gown. She sat on the floor and put my bra on over her shirt. Whatever you are picturing is probably fairly accurate, so I won't even attempt to describe it for you. When the electrodes were being stuck on my body, she got scared. Ian tried to comfort her and said,

Ainsley, it's just a test. Mom's going to be o.k. Don't worry.

Isn't he amazing??? Next we went to radiology for the chest x-ray. I thought Ainsley was going to lose it completely when they wouldn't let her go in with me. A very kind nurse took the kids to the waiting area and turned the t.v. to a PBS station. They were entranced. The x-ray took 90 seconds. When I went to get the kids, they didn't want to leave. Now, that is some serious magic.

Ainsley was fine the rest of the day. Ian was pretty quiet. He seemed to be contemplating something. At dinner I asked what was bothering him. After a little prodding, he admitted that the visit to the hospital today had him concerned.

Here we go again. Take a deep breath. Be honest.

I told him about the surgery, but stressed that it is no big deal, not like last year. He tried so hard not to cry, but when he saw the tear dripping down my cheek, he couldn't help it. We held each other for a long time and cried together.

Ian, you are my knight in shining armor, and I need you to be brave. Can you do that for me?

Yes . . . I can, Mom.

He nodded and wiped away the tears. In that moment, it felt like he melted into my chest and wrapped himself around my heart. His strength, his understanding, his compassion are so profound at the tender age of nearly 7. How did he get to this point? He has come so far, and it seemed to happen overnight. This is good.