Raging in Recovery

The dreaded moment had arrived. They placed the gas mask over my daughter's face and restrained her efforts to get off the surgery table. I stood as close as I could to her little body and offered vacant words of comfort, holding her hand and telling her it was going to be okay. Her terrified screaming soon turned to soft crying as the affects of the sleeping gas took place. Her tense body went limp and doctors carefully laid her head on the table. The nurse quickly ushered us out of the room and back to our belongings. "We'll come get you when it's done. Please try not to worry. We promise to take good care of your daughter."

I bit the sides of my cheeks to restrain the waterworks building up in my throat. How do I not worry? I just entrusted the life of my daughter into the hands of people I just met this morning: nurses, doctors, anesthesiologists. Perhaps routine to them, but not to me. How can you ever feel comfortable walking away from your sedated child on the operating table?

My emotions threatened to take over my body. I sucked in a deep breath and began to focus on controlling the sobs that wanted to escape. "Are you okay?" Glenn asked. I couldn't answer for fear of completely breaking down. I nodded my head, and we walked to the cafeteria. I silently prayed, cried out, for Peace to overtake my racing heart. Why couldn't I relax? Why was I so anxious? Sure, I knew all the verses in my head about "asking and receiving," "not being anxious about anything," "trusting in the Lord with all my heart..." My eyes started to well up with tears as I tried to shovel a fork full of runny scrambled eggs into my mouth. Glenn looked up, somewhat uncomfortable with my emotions in the middle of the busy cafeteria and said, "Christine, just focus on your food." I looked down at my plate, no longer hungry, and pleaded in my head, "God, please. Just please. I can't even pray right now. I don't have the words." For all the knowledge in my head about God, for all the words I had at my disposal, I lacked all ability to transfer that into a heart-felt, faith filled prayer. For all my years of walking in faith and having a relationship with God, why couldn't I just grab a hold of Peace and know deep in my heart that it was going to be okay?

As we walked back to the family waiting area, we were surprisingly greeted in the hallway by Aleena's doctor/surgeon. My heart flip-flopped as I listened to the diagnosis- another venous malformation. Not cancerous. Not a tumor. Not life-threatening. Actually, the lump was an extension of the same one from last summer. Our daughter was in recovery, and we could see her shortly. I breathed a half sigh of relief. Not until I had my daughter in my arms again could I relax.

Five minutes later, we were ushered into the recovery unit, and the moment I passed through the doors, I could hear a familiar angry scream echoing down the hall. "Oh God, that's my daughter," I thought. As we rounded the corner, there she was, literally fighting the nurse trying to throw herself off the hospital bed. Gown undone, arms flailing, the nurse was restraining a very angry three year old. Aleena was trying to rip out her IV, tear off the chest wires, pull off the oxygen pulse monitor...it was not a pretty sight. She was sobbing inconsolably, and quickly we went to her bedside. The nurse gave me a sympathetic look as I rushed to try to hold Aleena. The fit of rage lasted for a while longer until they finally gave her medicine to reduce the pain and calm her little body. After what felt like hours (but in reality was only 10 minutes), my daughter snuggled quietly in my arms watching Nick Jr. on the small TV and ate an orange Popsicle.

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I've replayed my daughter's fit of rage in my head quite a few times. She had come out of the anesthesia prematurely and as a result was an angry, inconsolable mess. I just wanted to comfort her. I just wanted her to settle down in my arms and know that she was loved and everything was going to be okay...and here's the thing- I have a feeling that God probably wanted to do the very same thing for me in my moment of panic and anxiousness. I can picture Him offering me His loving arms of peace and comfort. "Over here, Christine. Sit with me and rest. I've got you in My arms. I have Aleena, too. Don't worry. It's okay. You can settle, " perhaps He would have said. But, I never heard Him because I was too busy flailing my arms, allowing anxiousness to keep me distracted, and allowing worry to restrain me. My own fears clogged my ears, prevented me from settling down- as if I was throwing my own kind of "coming out of anesthesia" tirade. Now I understand why Peace had difficulty bringing any type of comfort. I was inconsolable, and needed a good dose of calming medicine before I could actually hear clearly....And, just like I tell Aleena, I can now tell myself, "You can try again next time. Learn from this, and know that next time, things can be different."