Disclaimer: Mitchell had a minor hernia on his unmentionable area. He went in for outpatient surgery, and even though we were there so damn long I’m not sure it still counted as outpatient, it was no big deal. I’m just a wimp.
On November 1st (yep, morning after Halloween), Mitchell and I trekked to Dayton Children’s Hospital, where I feel we spend way too much time as a family, for him to have a simple outpatient surgery to fix a mild hernia. So not a big deal. And for the most part I managed to keep telling myself that. At least, in front of Mitchell. But when they wheeled him down that hallway, I immediately squeezed my fists hard enough to draw blood.
My baby is 4. But he’s my baby. Other than his weekly speech therapy appointments and the rare occasion he stays with Justin, I can count on one hand the number of times we’ve been apart in the last couple years. Luckily he’s pretty awesome, so it’s easy to spend time with him. But watching someone take him from me, no matter what the occasion, still hurts. I have no idea how we’re going to handle school.
When they brought him back, the nurse casually mentioned that every time he woke up from the anaesthesia for a few moments, he cried for me. Approximately .00054 seconds after she closed the door, I crawled into bed with him and cried. How could I not be there when he cried? He was probably so scared! That was probably the cruelest thing a person has every said to me. I had nightmares for weeks about not being there for him when he’s scared. I’m there for every bump, every bruise, every nightmare, every hurt feeling. But not that.
Luckily, he seems to have no memory of it. And I only took a couple pictures, so we can forget all about it.