Waiting in the hospital

My son is in surgery for his knee, a fairly simple, routine surgery. It's some different waiting in the waiting room for your own than with another family's relative. It reminds me of all the days of waiting for procedures with so many of my family. I can't even tally the number of hours waiting for procedures for little Jenny. I saw a little girl about her age this morning, in pink footy pajamas waiting with her father for her surgery; a sticker on her forehead. How many times we walked with Jenny in our arms, stickers on her arm where she'd been poked, or on her shirt where the center port was placed. We called that Charlie, and only Charlie would get poked. Still, no matter that Charlie was there and received all the chemo and was the access point for lots of blood work, Jenny still was poked for other procedures. The doctors sometimes had iv's going in through the veins of her little feet or at the temple. We all waited, David and Jess and me, waiting, waiting, waiting. One gets accustomed to the atmosphere of the hospital, to the sounds of machines dinging away, to the clatter of carts going down the hallway. There even becomes a sense of peace and normalcy with the activity in a hospital.

So I sit this morning waiting for David's surgery to be done, to talk with the doctor and to be able to go into recovery. There's a peace that I have not always felt. Still, no matter that the surgery is fairly simple and routine, there's always the chance that something could go wrong. I don't dwell on it, but it's there, in the back of my head, and I know it won't be stilled until later today.

Of all my children, I had anticipated doctor visits with David, but I have instead seen both girls in trauma. While David is adventurous and active, there have been only a few times that I have spent with him in a doctor or hospital environment. I am grateful for that. And so, I wait. It'll be a couple of hours before I see him again. It'll be okay.