‘Watermelon and Pegacorn’s’

October 26, 2020

The phone rang early this morning just before 7am. It was the Children’s Hospital calling to ask if we could be at the hospital sooner than our original scheduled time. Of course we said yes, quickly grabbed whatever we had packed, kissed our little man goodbye and ran out the door. It wasn’t the calm morning we had anticipated and yet we have been so ready and anxious to get the surgery done as soon as possible.

Vannah was a little nervous on the drive down. She had some fear about the tube that would go down her throat and if there would be a lot of pain. We had the priceless and precious opportunity to answer her questions, listen to her concerns, and witness her pure faith. We watched the sunrise over the purple mountains and we could feel God in this beautiful, chilly, crisp morning.

Everything moved quickly from there. Check in. Change clothes. Meet the admitting nurse. Meet the Doctor. Meet the Anesthesiologist. Meet the Nurse Practitioner. Meet the Surgery nurse. Sign the papers. Listen. Ask questions… all while you just want to hang on to your child for as long as possible before they wheel her away from you.

The hardest part of our admitting process was finding out that due to Covid, parents no longer can see their child in recovery. She would have to wake up alone. Any mother’s heart would hurt thinking about their child waking up in a place she didn’t know, surrounded by faces she can’t remember and then you add to that the pain that you really couldn’t prepare her for. Yes, it hurt. But, I felt peace knowing that she was in the best of hands both here medically as well as the hands of angels. Surely there are special hands holding her today.

Savannah wants to know if you know what a Pegacorn is? 🙂 I wonder how many of you actually have seen one. She has! Savannah and her dad made up the magical creature that consists of a Pegasis, a horse with wings combined with a Unicorn, or a horse with a horn. Can you imagine such a creature? It just so happens that Savannah and her Dad created this mythical creature in sweet imagination this past week. So, much to her delighted surprise, there was an adorable little squeal that escaped her cute little mouth when in walked the Anesthesiologist with none other than a surgical hat consisting of a PURPLE PEGACORN! WHAT? Are you kidding? Miracle #121. Her Anesthesiologist said he picked it out just for her, for the patient in room #12 who loves unicorns and the color purple. This precious interaction calmed her fears, brought laughter to the room and precious peace to a Momma’s aching heart.

Then, it was time. I hugged her. Kissed her. Held her. Fought back tears so I could be brave for her. Then, I let her go. I placed my faith in those hands, stepped back and let go.

The doctor looked at us with reassuring eyes, promising eyes…. he would take care of her. He would create a magical world of Pegacorn’s surrounded by the scent of watermelon anesthesia. She reached out for our hands as he began to wheel her away and for the first time in this hospital I was grateful for the mask that hid the anguish covering my face. Around the corner and out of sight. Once again we held each other and prayed.

It was 10:40am when they took her to surgery. The first call in the empty, silent, social distancing waiting room came at 12:15. The surgical nurse gave us an update that she was doing well and there were no concerns. They were still working on removing the mass but all was ok.

What do you do to make the time go by… you play card games with your spouse with little to no sleep. Oh, how I am sure we entertained those who passed by with the occasional sound of laughter mixed with moments of anxiousness and worry.

No more calls came. How do you not worry? It was 2 more hours before the surgeon walked in and sat down across from us. I couldn’t help but pause for a moment in awe of what these doctors do. Hours on his feet standing over someone else’s child with expectations to do his best and return her to us safely. I felt so much gratitude and appreciation for his hands, his knowledge and his heart.

The news: 3 incisions, 90% removed. No complications. No chest tube. One incision had to be made much larger than planned due to the size of the mass, this would cause some increased pain in the healing process but the mass was out. He compared the mass to a rubber ball that was pressed up against the spine and diaphragm. It was hard to grab and kept wanting move away but they were able to remove as much as they could safely. Of course, we asked the question… did the tissue look concerning? His response was professional in that we just can’t know without pathology. So, we continue down the path we have come to know so well… waiting. But, ‘Mr. Bad Boy’ is out. He no longer gets to hold us hostage with fear in her little body.

We rounded the corner to see her cute little body in such a big hospital bed waiting to be transported to her new room for the next few days. She was pale, but she looked so strong. She was tired, but she looked like a warrior. She couldn’t speak, but I could hear her soul loud and clear. She is ok.

Thank you, God, for holding our little girl. Thank you for guiding the hands of surgeons and nurses. Thank you for the woman who welcomed us and checked us in with cheer in her voice when she could hear the fear in ours. Thank you for the painted walls covered in butterflies and sea turtles that create a world of curiosity and comfort. Thank you, God, for warm blankets and hospital ice. Thank you for those who wash the linens and wipe down the rooms. Thank you, God, for the young man whose job it is to guide her bed from one floor to the other. Thank you for the child life specialists and social workers. Thank you, God, for the other parents who smile behind masks because they know the anguish you feel. Thank you for watermelon scented Anesthesia and Pegacorn surgical hats. Thank you for beeping IV machines and blood pressure cuffs because it means our little girl is still here. Thank you, God, for phone calls, messages, flowers, balloons, pictures and hugs from friends because we know we are loved and we know you are in that love. Thank you, God, for our family. For our faith. For peace. Thank you for holding us today.

Tomorrow we will deal with whatever comes, but for tonight, we will rest in the beautiful miracle that we call our Savannah.