On Tuesday, December 2, the Prez and I rushed around our home after setting our alarms too late. 6:00 a.m. seemed early enough the night before at 11:30 p.m., but as time marched on we realized we had too much to do in too little time. I frantically packed the last few items in my daughter’s bag as they were just finishing up in the dryer. It was THAT frantic.

The surgeries for which we were rushing about would involve repairing the alveolar ridge in each of our 9-year-old children’s mouths. They were both born with congenital cleft lip and palate, and this surgery was the 3rd for our daughter and the 4th for our son related to repairing their mouths. This is also Lord willing the last major surgery either of them will face. This was our daughter’s 15th surgery since 2008 and our son’s 10th since coming home in 2010 (he had at least 3 surgeries in China before we adopted him), and some of them involved repairing their cleft lip and palates while others involved heart repairs for congenital heart disease.

Before the Prez left with Li’l Miss, who is now 9 years old, I hugged her for a long time and told her I would see her up at the hospital, and we all prayed a simple prayer together. Her brothers and little sister told her bye as well. Yes, thoughts do emerge in your mind and heart as you contemplate questions like could this be the time? what if there are complications? what if? what if? what if? With each and every surgery, which the Prez and I determined this would make numbers 24 and 25 between our three littles combined since September 2008, the anxiety level for me and I suspect Li’l Miss too, goes even more through the roof. It is horrible.

I don’t like good-byes anyway. I know, most of us don’t. It all seemed too real at this point. I wasn’t ready. How could December 2 have come to be so quickly? Wasn’t it just October 31?, I thought. And what happened to the weeks leading up to Thanksgiving? Why did we even schedule these surgeries on the same day? WHAT WERE WE THINKING?

Clearly, my mind was working in overdrive, though it wasn’t making much sense. At all.

Not fifteen minutes after the Prez left with Li’l Miss, the phone rang. It was the dreaded 343 number. And yes, on surgery day, seeing the caller ID display the hospital’s generic number was definitely not a good thing. How could this be? I thought. Cancellations had happened before, the week before, the day before, but never the day of. That would be a new first for us. I timidly answered Hello? The lady on the other end asked for Mrs. ___ and I said that’s me. She began to ask if we’d left yet and my heart sank. But just as quickly, I was elated to hear her saying the words: There’s been a cancellation and Dr. Kelly is hoping to move their surgeries up.

Yes, yes, yes! A thousand times yes! I told her the Prez had been gone at least half an hour and it would take them at least an hour to get there, maybe more with morning traffic. She noted this and said they would be waiting. I hung up and panicked all over again as I realized I was not nearly as ready as I needed to be with my bag, Li’l Bro’s bag and Li’l Bit’s bag. As it would turn out, my Dad met me at an interstate exit, which saved me a good bit of time not having to drop off Li’l Bit, and I threw her things in a plastic grocery sack. Li’l Bro, also 9, Li’l Bit, 4, and I were out the door within the half-hour on our way to the hospital for what would prove to be a very long day.

The Prez arrived less than an hour before us as he hit major traffic snarls and we seemed to come through Nashville just as rush hour had ended. He and Li’l Miss arrived around 9:15, and Li’l Bro and I around 10 a.m. And that is when the “fight” I imagined began. I knew they wouldn’t let me take Li’l Bro back as his surgery was scheduled on paper for 3 p.m., but I had Li’l Miss’s stuffed dolphin she had forgotten by the back door and I had to hug my big girl again if given the chance.

The Prez was texting me in real time saying they would be taking her back any minute, and I knew they weren’t going to wait because Momma happened to be having a mini freak-out out in the waiting room as “very nice but very rule-following desk attendant” said I could go back but Li’l Bro could not. Truth be told, I wanted all four of us in there together before they took Li’l Miss back. It was that important. So after taking a deep breath and calming down, I asked the “very nice desk attendant” to kindly call the charge nurse in the back and explain our unique situation, so she did. And the charge nurse said without hesitation that Li’l Bro and I could be allowed back immediately and so we were. Within 60 seconds, I had my arms around my big brave girl, and we were at once surrounded by quite a crowd of nurses and staff who wanted to see “the twins having the same surgery the same day with Dr. K.”

It is quite funny when Li’l Miss and Li’l Bro tell people “oh, we’re not twins, but we are the same age and we were born just four months apart.” Most people don’t even ask a follow-up, but rather say “hummmm.” It is quite comical actually. Soon after, Dr. K himself appeared with his reassuring smile and asked if we were ready. We said Team {Family Name} was ready and he said “let’s do this then!” Oh how I love that man! If there’s one thing I want in a surgeon who will be operating on one (or two as it were) of my children, it is CONFIDENCE thank you very much! And he has it. Which is good. Really, really good.

It would be impossible to retrace the many steps the Prez and I took over the course of this very long day, but I will try to hit the highlights with this graphic.

Our day as I stated earlier began at 6 a.m. when the alarms started going off on our iPhones and we both attempted to hit the snooze button before nudging each other to get out of the bed. And quick.

I’m going to be honest here. When faced with this kind of day, you just gotta put on the big-girl panties (or whatever the case may be) and face it. Nothing is going to motivate you to do it except sheer grit and determination. And when your kids are depending on you, you really do have to put on the game face and be the strong one. It really isn’t optional. No time for tears at this point. No time for IBS issues. No time for coffee even.

It is kind of weird to think about how each experience sitting in Vanderbilt Children’s 3rd floor waiting room is different. This time around, there wasn’t much sitting out there and waiting. Once we got Li’l Miss sent back for her surgery, the Prez, Li’l Bro and I had about an hour to sit and wait before he was called back. Oftentimes, my mother- and father-in-law are sitting there with us, but this time my MIL didn’t arrive until after they had taken us back with Li’l Bro for his pre-surgery intake and waiting.

Li’l Miss Post-Op and finally resting.

She like us had planned her day and arrival around the original start times of 11 a.m. and 3 p.m. Normally they allow only 2 adults with each patient, but basically we asked if we could bring her back and they said sure, which actually worked out well because at this point things started hopping with us getting updates Li’l Miss would soon be finished and in recovery. And once she came into the recovery area, the Prez and I were literally fast-walking back-and-forth from recovery to pre-op and back again. We had a fast pass with a quick walk from his private room (which isn’t always the case but he scored one of the private TV rooms for pre-op) to her nook in recovery.

I knew it was going to be bad when a nurse hurried into Li’l Bro’s room and said, “Are you Mom?” to which I said “Yes” and she said “I need you to come with me. Now.” OK, so I hugged Li’l Bro and instructed the Prez to definitely come get me before they took him back. When I neared the double doors leading into recovery, I could hear her ear-pearcing screams. There was no mistaking these were the deep cries of our Li’l Miss and unfortunately, I’d heard them before. Many, many times. This is usually how she recovers initially post-op.

Several nurses were trying different things to calm her down as she was writhing and trying to pull wires and the oxygen mask and … well, let’s just say it was harried in there. So I leaned in close and said, “Honey, Momma’s here now. I’m here. You’re OK. It’s all done. I’m HERE.” I remember hearing the nurse say, “Well, we should’ve gotten Mom sooner. Her heart rate is already going back down. Look, her oxygenation is much better. Just keep doing what you’re doing Mom. …. ” And I just kept stroking her forehead and speaking softly to her, telling her what she needed to hear.

It has been a rough road in many ways for Li’l Miss and me. Attachment hasn’t come easy. At all. She would much prefer her Daddy to hear her tell it, and so it was somewhat surprising she asked for me in her desperate state post-op, but the nurses were adamant that she came out of the OR screaming for Momma even before the breathing tube was fully removed. She wanted her Momma and everyone within 500 yards or more knew it. And I’m so very thankful she knows who will be there for her and who will bring her comfort like no one else on Earth can. Being a Momma is a big job, especially so when your little one is struggling and feeling the effects of post-traumatic stress disorder.

At this point, she was calming and I was freaking out inside. Why did we do this? What WERE WE THINKING? How can I make it through this day? And where is the nearest bathroom?

I knew Li’l Bro would be taken back soon. His pre-op nurse had told me they would have the OR turned over in 30 minutes, and that the surgeon was not taking a break other than the wait for the cleaning of the OR. He was game on and ready and waiting for the room to be readied. In fact, the surgeon went over both releases with us before Li’l Miss’s surgery and he told us if we gave him our blessing that he wouldn’t come back out to see us before Li’l Bro’s surgery, which we gladly gave because we knew the sooner he could do his thing the sooner Li’l Bro would make his way up to a room on the floor.

Li’l Bro Post-Op and smiling as always.

I don’t really know how much time passed, but it wasn’t much and the Prez did make his way back to see Li’l Miss once she calmed down. He couldn’t have handled seeing her writhing, not on this day anyway, and his Mom came back too with him, and we did the switcharoo so I could go back to see Li’l Bro who was so patiently waiting for his turn. Soon after, they told us it was time, so the Prez made his way back to Li’l Bro’s room and we said quick and non-emotional good-byes (so much better for the patient) and prayed again silently. We always pray with them, but we do it well before the hand-off, because again, it is just better that way for them, and he was off just like that. And I was a hot mess. I held it in, but on the inside I was crying out and thinking I CAN’T DO THIS. I CAN’T DO THIS.

But we did, and the day was far from over. This post is getting so long, so it is going to be a part 1 of hopefully 2. I have another post swirling in my head titled “What Is Women’s Ministry?” and it will relate to this most recent hospital stay and a recent email response that quite frankly left my mouth gaping open. I know, what a cliffhanger, right?