Love, Gratitude and Joy.
A little something I wrote after my son had surgery two weeks ago.
He’s home. Alex is home. After a busy morning filled with anxiety and tears, my boy is home—sitting on a bag of frozen peas, and watching movies. Lots of movies.
It’s surreal to walk into a hospital with your child, knowing they will be having surgery. Your emotions are stripped down and raw—bare and on full display for all who witness your journey—then made more complex because you know in your heart that everyone is there for a child they love. So many kids. So much to fear. And thankfully, so much love. What I noticed most was the LOVE.
And that loving energy, let’s just say it is important. I realized today that watching your child navigate the hospital experience in real time is brutal. Without the love it would have been unbearable. My sweet Alex, the boy who seemed ready moments and days before, was suddenly rendered nervous because the nurse asked him to change his pajamas. Pajamas. I had prepped him for the gas, and told him about the procedure, but I failed to mention that he’d be asked to change into hospital pajamas. Suddenly he found fear. He wouldn’t change into the the pajamas they use. Never did. And while there were lots of tears, and he refused to ride on the bed to the OR—he did eventually agree walk behind it, and let his stuffed animal take the ride. Why did he do this? Because under the fear, he felt the love.
Since Alex was so hesitant they let me hold him on my lap while the anesthesia was by his face. When he started to fade his eyes rolled back in his head, then he made funny snoring noises and his body lost all tone. It was a special kind of frightening. Then he was out, yet somehow I was paralyzed. The nurses and doctors surrounded me, gently grabbing his limp body and resting him on the table. It was then I burst into tears. Big tears. Ugly tears. Shaking limbs tears. One sweet nurse came over to me and hugged me, hard. Then they all told me how good I did. I can already see the humor in that—children’s nurses and doctors telling a parent “good job,” and knowing that the comfort they provide is indeed part of their unique and special job.
Overwhelming amounts of love and kindness live within the souls who work there. The doctors and nurses who dedicate their lives to helping children heal are inspiring beyond words, and their dedication is unbelievably humbling. Most of us are not capable of handling such deep emotion on such a consistent basis. But these heroes do it without capes or fanfare. I honestly cannot imagine the joys and the sorrows they witness.
And yet, my mind wandered. I did imagine. Because as we sat in Alex’s room waiting for him to be out of recovery there was an announcement made on the intercom. I can’t remember the exact message, but it was the only one we heard the entire time we were there, and it went something like, “Dr. Blue the something something is canceled. Dr. Blue, it’s canceled.” My heart sank. I’m no doctor, but it seemed like a possible code blue, put in another code, because CODE BLUE blaring loudly in a children’s hospital full of anxious parents seemed unusually cruel. Maybe there is a Dr. Blue. God I hope there is.
Regardless, I’m sending love to all the children, families, doctors, nurses and helpers in there—because it just seems like the right thing to do. My son came home today. A few months ago my dear friend’s dear friend lost his 3 year old there. The same crew who treated my son’s routine procedure have gone home after less successful shifts, where the broken were unable to be healed, and the brokenness shifted to the parents—as they left alone.
The fear in that place is heavy because it’s real. But the love, the love matters. And the gratitude. I’m forever grateful for the team who worked on Alex today. And I’m grateful to live in a city with a hospital just for children, a hospital that serves families from five states but is less than 20 minutes from our driveway. And joy, I can't forget joy. I am filled with joy to be sitting at home with my son.
Love, gratitude and joy. Not a bad way to start the weekend.
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If you know anyone who works at Children’s Hospital and Clinics of Minnesota, please forward this to them, they need to know how amazing they are. It is my firm belief that the culture of kindness that resides within those walls is what makes that place so special. For that matter, go ahead and forward this to any staff member at any Children’s hospital—or any caring surgeon, anesthetist, nurse, pharmacist, front desk clerk, cafeteria attendant, security guard, etc., at any hospital where you, or your family members, were treated with kindness and compassion. If you were made to feel confident trusting your loved ones to their care, you are one of the lucky ones. It takes gifted people to heal our wounds with precision and skill, and it takes a certain kind of love to do it with empathy and compassion. To all the healers out there, know you are adored by those you treat. And know that while you may not always get a proper thank you, that in our hearts we are filled with abundant gratitude. When you meet parents (and all patients, really), they are likely living outside of their bodies, as watching our loved ones (and ourselves) go through something so heavy, is hard on the soul. Keep being awesome, and know that your kindness matters.
Thank you!
