Looming Clouds on the Horizon

This week has been eventful. On Monday, we found out that Jesse has to have ANOTHER SURGERY on his elbow. The fact that he could not turn his arm over should have been a bit of a giveaway, but I kept thinking: MAYBE THAT WILL JUST GO AWAY. It's the same kind of magical- but irrational- thinking that has compelled me keep my skinny jeans for years.

Jesse handled this news much better than I did. Initial conversations with the orthopedist, somewhat paraphrased:

ME: But he CAN'T have another surgery.
DR: Just what is it that you are so worried about Mrs. Veasey?
ME: This is his THIRD surgery in three months.
DR: I understand that, but what is it that you are worried about...specifically?
ME: His THIRD. That is Lifetime Movie kind of excessive amount of surgery.
(pause)
ME: And really, what if we just don't do it? What would be so bad about that?
DR: Ummmm...I don't know... HOW ABOUT THE FACT THAT HE WILL NEVER BE ABLE TO MOVE HIS ARM?

I can't really explain how much I dread the operation on Monday. Here are some of my fears large and small:

1. He will ask for water the morning of the operation and I will have to say NO. And since I have a hard time saying that word to things like "Can I play with the sharp knives" and "Can we stay up til 11 pm watching SpongeBob and eating gummy bears in your bed" I dread telling my baby that if he is thirsty he will need to suck it up.

2. We will wait for hours before the surgery in a curtained room with a single chair, surrounded by other people waiting for surgery who do not close the back of their gowns when they traipse through the place. Seriously: you will never see as many naked butts as in pre-op.

3. The moment before I put the suit on to accompany Jesse to the operating room when I think O My Gawd this is NOT going to fit over my butt and all these people are watching me put it on.

4. The moment when they place the mask over his tiny face and his eyes flutter closed and it reminds me of what he looked like the very first time they placed him in my arms and why is it is so easy to be overwhelmed by the amount of love you feel for your child WHEN THEY ARE ASLEEP?

5. The WAIT.

6. The Recovery. Jesse's first words after the last surgery were: WHY DID YOU LET ME BREAK MY ARM MOMMY. And if I had not been fighting so hard to hold back tears, I might have told him it was his Dad's fault anyway. This year I'm packing a big red arrow and a sign that says "MOMMY is the one who always says NO to running, climbing, race car driving and risk taking of any sort."

7. The vomiting. Where, by the way, Kip is incredibly redeemed, appreciated, and loved, and I take back all of paragraph six.

8. The pain. And the way I channel Shirley McClane and think IF THAT NURSE DOESN'T GET OVER HERE WITH THAT MORPHINE IN THE NEXT MINUTE I AM GOING TO KICK HER ASS.

9. The vomiting and the pain. The hope that Power Rangers Dino Thunder will distract.

10. The recovery. No swimming, no running, no jumping, no rough housing...just the way I said I liked it. And yet, when he is lying all pale faced on the couch, I would give anything if he could be out running in sunshine.

We are blessed to have such great family and friends. And we are grateful when we can find the humor in a situation like this, knowing that there are many families who everyday deal with situations that are not as easily fixed as a broken elbow. All Will Be Well.