Like most all things, it’s a completely different story when it’s your kid.
In all the packing and preparing, finding the “froggie socks”, the right book (“The Very Hungry Caterpillar”), the pink pajamas, and the correct “soffy” (read it exactly as it’s written) blankets, I don’t think I had thought too much about THAT certain inevitability — the actual surgery.
As soon as they wheeled my almost 3 year old out of the pre-op room and into surgery, it felt like I stopped being her father. They smiled and told us everything was going to be “great” and that it’d be “no problem”. Only, I don’t feel quite like that. And while any attempt to placate myself by thinking about how much more serious other kids’ conditions are might have been helpful up to this point, it doesn’t appear to speed up the surgery or put me any closer to her side.
Now, waiting.
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