THOUGHTS OF A FRUITCAKE: By Carolyn Aldis
So, last week, one of my daughters had to go to hospital to have some teeth removed under G.A, to make room for her brace. It’s quite a straightforward procedure, although she had to have an extra tooth removed from her palate.
Normally, having more of something is a positive thing...the buy one get one free offers, 50% extra in your crisp packet, 6 apples in a bag instead of 5...extra teeth are a negative, though, and need removing.
I felt, as her mother, that I should have been the one that went with her...I was there when they had their routine injections as babies, I took them to the doctor when they were poorly and I spent four days in a room the size of a cupboard with a three-week-old with suspected meningitis.
But I’m not very good at doing these things with them...their routine injections? They were not the only ones sobbing and as the nurse passed me a tissue and said “I see it all the time, don’t worry,” I still felt foolish. Visiting the doctor, I would feel anxious, worried that the innocent cough was pneumonia, the sickness would never stop or that the routine appointment would turn into a medical emergency...which it did when my unusually sleepy baby wouldn’t wake up.
I was in such a state by the time we got into the isolation room, that when they took her for a lumbar puncture, I couldn’t cope with anymore...I asked to be excused and left her in the care of her Daddy, while I sobbed, listening to her cries and feeling like a failure.
Relaying the lumbar puncture later, my husband told me that he had his hand on her head the whole time, and whispered “God loves you, Jesus loves you, Mummy loves you and Daddy loves you”, over and over again into her ear.
See, I would like to think I would do that, but I don’t operate rationally when it’s an emotional moment; I’m too busy having my own meltdown.
This kind of set the pattern that I deal with the basic stuff, but when it comes to hospital care, my husband is the man for the job. He is just so much better at it.
I knew that when he took our daughter for her operation at 7.30am, he would be considerate and not eat or drink anything, because she couldn’t either. I also knew that he would crack jokes and keep her entertained while they waited, to take her mind off it and help her relax...whereas I would say something stupid about problems during routine procedures. He would be calm while he waited with her until she was “under” – just the thought makes me want to cry, I really would be useless. It’s another shared memory that only her father went through with her, strengthening their bond.
What helped me most was knowing that not only was she in the care of her father, but also in the care of her Heavenly Father, who is as soft over her, in fact more so, than I am.