The day has arrived. My babygirl, just 6 months old is about to have surgery.
Signing the consent form felt cruel even though I knew it was necessary . You know the expression ” I hope I’m not signing my life away” it actually to some degree felt like that. Like I was signing my daughter’s life away.
There are risks to every procedure but you can’t help but think of the worst. I mean the surgeons don’t hold back do they. They were saying all sorts of things, listing what could potentially happen:
Infection, snipping the wrong thing, DEATH!”- if my daughter didn’t die when I gave birth to her she sure as hell ain’t dying now!! (I hope!)
She’s wheeled over to the anesthetic room
Me and her dad are allowed in.
She looks so happy and chirpy. Looking around at all the facinating equipment and smiling at the surgeons and anesthetists. None the wiser. She has no idea she’s about to be cut open with a scalpel.
They do their checks and the consultant reassures me that she’ll be looked after…That’s the cue for us to say our goodbyes before they take her into the opererating theatre.
My baby is lying down with the biggest smile on her face. I bend down to give her a kiss , so does her father. (I’m ok , Im going to be strong for her).
I can smell a sweet scent of strawberries, little did I know that was the anaesthetic gas that they were wafting in an oxygen mask over my baby’s face.
In less than 10 seconds , she fell unconscious. The last expression on her face was that innocent smile. It had gone.
She looked dead .
Everything I was trying to hold in came flooding out. I held on to the nurse and cried. I cried out the guilt that was haunting me since she was born, I cried out the pain I felt everytime she moved her arm, I cried out all the strength and courage i was borrowing..I cried for my baby girl.
I got a taste of what its like to be on the other side. On a normal day it would be me taking a parent with their child down to the operating theatre, it would be me to console that heartbroken mother and tell her to be strong. But today it’s me that will wait anxiously not knowing if my baby would make it through.
3hrs went by and we get a call to say the operation is over and she is in the recovery room waiting to wake up. We rush over and she’s just woken up. Eyes red and tired like she’s been asleep for days. I wanna pick her up and hug her but she looks so weak.
She’s in a cast which covers the length of her left arm and down to her waist… how is this even practical? She won’t be able to have a proper bath. What if she gets an itch or she is too hot? It has to stay on for 6 weeks. I’m already counting down the days.
Things were hard… it was a sttuggle to puy her in the car seat, a struggle to dress her; even with feeding I had to hold her in akward positions because of the cast , one of which was the rugby ball hold (which i was a pro at obvs -hehe)
6 weeks later we are at her appointment for the cast removal. I’m so excited. I forgot what its like to hold her without a cast. (I’ve used her as a dumbell to work out my biceps for 6 weeks)
As soon as the cast is cut off , her demeanour completely changed. She starting laughing and kicking her legs. She was visibly happy. Her arm left so much better. She wasn’t in pain when I held her properly . I was delighted.
Because she hadn’t used her arm in so long her muscles were weak, we were reffered to a physiotherapist to help us work on gaining strength back into her arm.
Fast forward to Now…
The physio is on going. Since the surgery she has had various follow up appointments and BOTOX! Yes… you read right. The stuff that keeps you looking wrinkle free and young. (I kinda wish I got a round of some becuase I defo have aged beyond my years since having my baby girl.)
Apparently it was to relax the muscles in her arm to allow for better movement.
Currently she is doing really well (Alhamdulillah), we see the physiotherapist regularly and have yearly follow ups with the orthopaedic consultant . She’s a cheeky little thing but she brings light and laughter everywhere she goes. I can’t believe how much shes grown and I’m ever so proud of her.
She’s a bloody tough cookie!
Thank you for reading! 🙂
This post completes my trilogy blog in relation to my daughter’s birth.
(Check out my two previous blog posts ‘The day I became a NICU mum and ‘After I became a Nicu mum’)