What To Do When The Momma Is Scared: Pray. Cry. Let Go. Laugh.

We've had a week, let me tell you.

Three majorly long doctor's appointments and an unexpected surgery. Ack.

So I guess I should tell the whole story.

About four months ago, the Ladybug got this little bump on her arm that looked like a bug bite. But it didn't go away. We messed with it a little, and realized that no, it wasn't a bug bite, but instead was "some kind of wart." Left it, figuring it would go away.

It didn't.

In fact, it grew.

Put some wart stuff on it... Nothing.

Grew some more.

Finally, when the Daddy declared that it was emerging as a sentient being from her arm a la Total Recall, I decided it was time to take her to the doctor and have them freeze the darn thing off. Yay.

So after spending the day at doctor's offices ALL DAY on Monday, guess what we did on Tuesday? Yep, you guessed it... We went to the pediatric dermatologist to see about the Ladybug's wart.

The nurse came in, looked at it, and said, "Um, I don't think this is a wart. I'm not sure what it is. I'm going to go get the doctor." She wasn't all that worried, though, so I didn't think much of it.

Cue waiting around for A G E S. Like an hour, seriously. I had to go beg some teddy grahams (can you say, NASTY??) and juice off the nurse because we'd managed to miss lunch during that time.

Doctor finally comes in and says, "Nope, it's not a wart. And the good news is, it has be surgically removed." Oh, joy.

It's nothing big, from what I understand, just a benign growth that will keep growing unless it's removed. Looks like this:

Note: This is not my child's arm. It's a google search photo.

No big deal, right? They give her a local, cut it off, and voila! She's fine.

Except that's not what happened. Before I could blink, we'd seen the surgeon, who agreed with the assessment, and had scheduled the surgery for yesterday morning at 8:30... Which also happened to be my birthday. Happy birthday to me. Yay! 

And then they tell me, "Oh, she has to be under general anesthesia. It's routine."

Except that anesthesia is not a happy medium in my world. Don't get me wrong, it's awesome to go to sleep and not feel anything. What's not awesome is having a bad reaction to it when you wake up, or waking up during the middle of the procedure with full feeling. Which has happened to me and several immediate family members. Half the time we're great with anesthesia, the other half... Ugh. 

Add that in to the horrible, awful recurrent nightmares I've had since before the Ladybug was born about something happening to her (or her sister, or both of them), season it with the fact that she has never had more than a cold, then mix it all up with the knowledge that it is infinitely easier to overdose a child on anesthesia than it is an adult, and you have a nervous-to-borderline-hysterical Momma with seriously irrational fears.

Terrified is a good word. I was completely and utterly terror-stricken. 

The rational, logical part of my brain completely understands that this is a very minor procedure. She is exceptionally healthy. There was and is nothing to indicate that it is anything more than a quick, easy, and relatively painless thing. 

And I was fine with it, at first. 

But Wednesday morning came, and BAM! Everything I'd ever feared about my children was staring me right in the face. I had absolutely no control over this situation. I had to place my faith elsewhere, because there was *nothing* I could do. 

There is a part of parenting that lives in fear. Hear me out here - it is not that, as parents, we live our lives controlled by fear for our children (although there are some - dare I say, many - who do live that way), but that as a parent, we are constantly and unrelentingly barraged by ALL THE POSSIBILITIES. Most of which are not happy or fun. Constantly presented by our vividly creative minds with all the fearful, freak-accident fears. It is a daily battle of the mind to CHOOSE to move outside of those fears and in faith, in trust, in some semblance of normalcy, in God... In His infinitely more creative love for our children's health and well-being. 

And most of the time, I do pretty good in this battle. 

But sometimes, especially after a nightmare (the effects of which sometimes linger for weeks), I don't do so well. Guess who had a nightmare two weeks ago? Yep. 

So my brain's all like, WHOA. Rational, logical thought goes right out the window.

I was nearly ready for a drug-induced coma come Wednesday night. 

This was a battle, all right. And not one I thought I was prepared for.  

Then to top it all off, Wednesday night, after a day of hidden tears and fervent prayers and FINALLY starting to feel better... Yeah. Both the Ladybug AND KayKay had nightmares all night. 

And by nightmares, I'm talking about the kind where you're woken up by blood-curdling screams that don't quiet right away. 

Even if you don't believe spiritual forces, you have to admit that SOMETHING was going on. I don't think they were picking anything up from me, either, because I am able to hide how I feel pretty well. And they had both had a happy Wednesday for all intents and purposes. 

By the time Thursday morning dawned, I was a wreck. I felt like I'd had about five minutes of sleep, although it was closer to three hours. 

But I had come to a firm decision in all the tossing and turning and praying and screaming: this fear did not control me, it was not of God, and I was going to TRUST that He loves my baby more than I do. 

I had to surrender. I HAD to let her go.

So I did. 

It wasn't fun. 

Thursday morning finally dawned after a *most* miserable night, and I bundled my baby up, and we all went to the car, and she and I got dropped at the hospital while the Daddy took KayKay to get some breakfast (no kids allowed in the prep area, so it was just easier that way). 

By the time we got checked in, I was at peace. Not perfectly so, but FAR better than even an hour before. 

And God was faithful. He showed up. 

Instead of one anesthesiologist, the Ladybug had THREE. Two residents AND the chief anesthesiologist was in the room with her. It was like God said, "Hey! You! Weak, fearful woman! I love your little girl WAAAAAAAAAAY more than you even thought you could. See?!?!"

And then, right before the surgery, they gave the Ladybug some anti-anxiety meds so she wouldn't feel anxious when they took her to the back. 

I had no idea that when they said "Anti-anxiety" what they REALLY meant was "Total out-of-your-mind drug trip." 

I've never witnessed anything like it. 

About five minutes into it, she hunched over, and started humming (or groaning, depending on your perspective) to her stuffed hippo.  When I asked her what she was doing, she looked up at me, flopped backward onto her pillow, and started giggling. Totally vacant. The lights were on, but nobody was home. Except a serious case of the giggles. 

She just laid there for at least five minutes doing nothing but giggling. Eyes closed, just laying back, happy as a clam. 

Happier, actually. 

Then she opened her eyes and drunkenly waved her hand in front of her face and said, "Just SNAP! out of it! Just snap out of it!" Over and over. Giggling the whole time. She knew something was going on, but she couldn't stop laughing long enough to try to figure it out. 

And all I could do was watch her and laugh. We spent the last half an hour before she went into surgery laughing and giggling and smiling together. Happy. 

For as long as I live, I'll never forget her half-baked giggling in that hospital room. It was awesome. And one of the funniest things I've ever witnessed. 

God showed up. 

He snapped His fingers, and said, "Just SNAP! out of it!"

And I did.