Tonight, It Was His Bones
This month has been heavy. The holidays usually are for us, but this year in some respects it has felt like a step backward and I know I did it to myself (at least in part). Here is how it began…
My 3rd and only surviving preemie is now 5 and a half. He is a little “different” and depending on how you view that particular word; it can be taken either direction positive or negative. Our family has chosen to embrace his uniqueness, but I will be honest it comes with its challenges. A piece of me still has moments of denial about some of its complexities, so we won’t delve too deep into those. I am going to further delude myself by saying, ‘my acknowledgment that I am in denial is at least a step in the right direction’. Feel free to judge.
In September I took my son to see a urologist. I went into the appointment calm as a clam thinking it would be super quick. I imagined myself walking in and the doctor saying, ‘Everything is okay and you are just a paranoid mommy. Go have a glass of wine and chill lady!’ In a moment of blind honesty with you... I have encountered this scenario before. So, when I say I was convinced this was going to happen, believe me, I was convinced! The doctor, telling me my son needed surgery, hit me like a hammer and tears (which I normally save for my “alone” time) began to instantly fall and I found myself trying as hard as I could to wipe them away before the little boy sitting on my lap took notice. The last thing he needed to know was that his mom was scared!
Not wanting him to miss too much school, we opted to have the procedure done during the week of Thanksgiving. He would have surgery on Monday and by Thursday we would be celebrating his healing. I should mention: It was brought to my attention prior to the surgery that Thanksgiving is tied to another trauma in my life, but the genius that I am I chose to ignore wisdom. It’s been 8 years, 8!! I should be over this, I should be beyond the tragedies of my past, right?! Yet here I am even as I type this out, imagining my 2 angel boys growing and wearing soccer uniforms. Why soccer? Don’t ask me, I am trying not to linger on the thought.
Surgery Day… we check in and they go over his height and weight. Weight: 13.5kg (29 pounds) Height: Who cares!? He is losing weight again! I try to ignore the number. We move out of triage to meet with the Anesthesiologist and the nurse quietly says, “wow. His BMI is 12.1”. I look at her concerned face and nod. Yes, I know.
Once our little guy was sleeping, we head off to our private waiting room our stomachs churning with wild thoughts of what if something goes wrong, and oh yeah, we shouldn’t focus on that! We should focus on… what if he has a bad reaction to the anesthesia… ahh, positive thoughts. An hour later the doctor comes in and says the surgery was a little more complicated than what he thought, but that everything should heal nicely.
Days later… Weeks later… I am still trying to go back to my Zen place about his weight which brings me to our title. Tonight, it was his bones that triggered me, the complete spine and rib cage, the sunken cheeks and shoulder blades that protrude. We had to have “the talk” again, which in our house involves talking about how important it is to eat food. Food is energy, Food helps us grow, Food helps us think. The pain strikes again, would my other boys (had they survived) of had similar issues or be more like my siblings, each clearly unique? For me tonight, it’s all intermingled.
Have you suffered a loss? Do you find yourself, thinking you should be “over it”? My friend, you are not alone!