In my last post, I said I had places to go.
The first place we all went, the morning after we lost our Bananas, was the hospital.
It was surgery day for the Littles.
They weren't allowed to eat or drink anything after midnight, so we had a family movie night and kept them up with snacks as late as we could all stand it. In the morning, J and I rose before the sun to sneak some breakfast before scooping them up.
We told them both to choose whatever they wanted to wear. Just be as comfy as possible, we said. You can even wear your pajamas! Your pajamas, we said.
You'd think we'd never met these two, with such a suggestion, right Peanuts?
Here was Little One's choice:
Her current Very Favorite outfit- the cherished Rapunzel dress with tights and a fancy headband-er, crown- from Tia's store.
Little Miss chose this:
POLKA DOTS! Polka and polka and polka polka dots! ALL the polka dots!
Dress, tights, even the little hair bow. All that mattered was the polka-dottiness.
All fancied up and ready for action, we raced over to the hospital- to wait.
And wait and wait and wait.
Luckily, there was a fun room to wait in, with blocks and crayons,
and a horse and wagon to go around and around.
And around. And around..... He's a very good-natured horse.
Little One got to bring Her special puppy with Her, and they both got their bracelets and game faces on.
And then, just as I was forgetting to be nervous about my baby going under general anesthesia and a knife, it was time.
J went with Little One, and I took Missy over to wait for Her turn. It was almost 2pm before She was called, a loooooong time for a two year old not to eat or drink. I had braced myself for at least one of the minor circles of Hell this day. However, surprisingly true to Her name, Missy was an angel all the while. I talked the anesthesiologist into letting me stay with Her until She was asleep, and so She went peacefully. In Her polka dot dress.
Then there were about 20 minutes in which both of my babies were under and I felt uneasily as if all my eggs were in one basket.
Soon enough, though, Missy was done and I went to welcome Her back to the world. She was slightly less than pleased.
Some cuddles helped. The offer of some juice did a lot to repair Her mood, as well.
Soon J was texting me that Little One was awake, screaming "like a banshee" and could I please RUN to the pharmacy to pick up Her pain medicine.
My poor Little One. My tough, brave, strong girl. She was a crumpled little ball of misery.
A couple hours later, though, She was less-miserable enough to take home.
The nurse called Her an Old Soul. She said Little One was tougher than most adults.
Little One felt terrible, but She was very brave. And we knew She was going to be ok when, before She would allow us to take Her anywhere, She insisted on changing back into Her Rapunzel outfit. Complete with tights and crown.
On the way home, Little One had Her first chance to hand out one of Her blessing bags. The reaction of the gentleman She handed it to did more for Her than the oxycodone.
We never did torture our Littles by eating in front of them while they were being starved. So with the exception of a power bar I inhaled during the brief period they were both under, this pregnant Mama had nothing to eat for 12 hours. When we got home, I promptly ordered two pizzas and ate SEVEN slices right in a row. It's amazing the things one learns they are capable of under unusual circumstances.
The next week and a half was a blur of long nights, popsicles, tears, and cuddles on the couch. But Missy recovered in a couple of days, and even Little One did pretty well during the day when Her medicine was in full effect. Slowly, the good stretches stretched out and the teary ones faded. She even started back to school a couple days ago.
The good news is that we received the best possible results from both girls' tests, and are very relieved for them both. The bad part is that I've never seen Little One suffer quite so much, and that is rather something considering that Her medical history has been slightly less than charmed.
But the good news again is that we have this hope that it's a sort of a lump-sum, quota-filling pain; that it will mean that years of drawn out, frequent suffering will be avoided. We can only wait and see, and hope it was all worth it.
In the meantime, at least it's all over.
And, lets be honest here, I can't pretend that anything involving this level of cuddling and ice-cream eating could ever be all bad.
The first place we all went, the morning after we lost our Bananas, was the hospital.
It was surgery day for the Littles.
They weren't allowed to eat or drink anything after midnight, so we had a family movie night and kept them up with snacks as late as we could all stand it. In the morning, J and I rose before the sun to sneak some breakfast before scooping them up.
We told them both to choose whatever they wanted to wear. Just be as comfy as possible, we said. You can even wear your pajamas! Your pajamas, we said.
You'd think we'd never met these two, with such a suggestion, right Peanuts?
Here was Little One's choice:
Little Miss chose this:
Dress, tights, even the little hair bow. All that mattered was the polka-dottiness.
All fancied up and ready for action, we raced over to the hospital- to wait.
And wait and wait and wait.
Luckily, there was a fun room to wait in, with blocks and crayons,
and a horse and wagon to go around and around.
And around. And around..... He's a very good-natured horse.
Little One got to bring Her special puppy with Her, and they both got their bracelets and game faces on.
Then there were about 20 minutes in which both of my babies were under and I felt uneasily as if all my eggs were in one basket.
Soon enough, though, Missy was done and I went to welcome Her back to the world. She was slightly less than pleased.
Soon J was texting me that Little One was awake, screaming "like a banshee" and could I please RUN to the pharmacy to pick up Her pain medicine.
My poor Little One. My tough, brave, strong girl. She was a crumpled little ball of misery.
A couple hours later, though, She was less-miserable enough to take home.
The nurse called Her an Old Soul. She said Little One was tougher than most adults.
Little One felt terrible, but She was very brave. And we knew She was going to be ok when, before She would allow us to take Her anywhere, She insisted on changing back into Her Rapunzel outfit. Complete with tights and crown.
On the way home, Little One had Her first chance to hand out one of Her blessing bags. The reaction of the gentleman She handed it to did more for Her than the oxycodone.
We never did torture our Littles by eating in front of them while they were being starved. So with the exception of a power bar I inhaled during the brief period they were both under, this pregnant Mama had nothing to eat for 12 hours. When we got home, I promptly ordered two pizzas and ate SEVEN slices right in a row. It's amazing the things one learns they are capable of under unusual circumstances.
The next week and a half was a blur of long nights, popsicles, tears, and cuddles on the couch. But Missy recovered in a couple of days, and even Little One did pretty well during the day when Her medicine was in full effect. Slowly, the good stretches stretched out and the teary ones faded. She even started back to school a couple days ago.
The good news is that we received the best possible results from both girls' tests, and are very relieved for them both. The bad part is that I've never seen Little One suffer quite so much, and that is rather something considering that Her medical history has been slightly less than charmed.
But the good news again is that we have this hope that it's a sort of a lump-sum, quota-filling pain; that it will mean that years of drawn out, frequent suffering will be avoided. We can only wait and see, and hope it was all worth it.
In the meantime, at least it's all over.
And, lets be honest here, I can't pretend that anything involving this level of cuddling and ice-cream eating could ever be all bad.
So glad everything went well. You guys are a tough bunch!
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