i've got the peace that passes understanding down in my heart...

We have been waiting in the lobby.  It's been almost 2 hours since Adeline was brought back to the operating room. I argued with myself about when it was appropriate to get the computer out and start typing. Is it ridiculous that I sit here and write while my daughter is lying in a cold, bright, sterile operating room just a few rooms away? Of course I am worrying – I can still feel the itch of a cold sore trying to appear on my upper lip. Should I be praying? Or crying?

Well, I have discovered that this is my prayer.

We got a nice, bigger room at the Rainbow House last night. I almost felt guilty when we walked in! But it had plenty of room for the pack and play.

We gave Adeline a tubby with “adult” soap, as directed. No messing around with “no more tears”! This was a big girl bath.

I rocked her for as long as she would allow me to. I pressed my lips against her head, breathed in the Lever 2000 scent of her hair, and let the tears fall down my checks and onto hers. We all fell asleep to the lullaby of her little nighttime puppy, Violet.

She slept well. I picked her up from the pack and play this morning, threw a hat on her head, wrapped her in her blankie, and we put her right in the pickup. She was a little irritated that we disturbed her beauty rest but she didn't say much. Children's is just a couple of minutes away so she wasn't even quite a awake by the time we walked up to the registration desk.

Sweet Adeline wasn't very sweet while the nurses were doing the surgery preparation. I opted for the phlebotomist to do a finger stick to get the blood for the type and cross and panels. I think it was easier than holding her down for a venous draw, but she fought the whole time anyway. Heck, she started yelling at the nurse when she was getting her weight. We had to do the thing where they weighed both of us together and then I handed her off to Aaron so they could weigh me and subtract to figure it out. Listening to heart and lung sounds, measuring her height, head circumference, etc., were all just about as traumatic as the finger stick. She had visits and questions from at least a half dozen medical staff members. She didn't want anything to do with any of them - and wasn't afraid to let them know. But when Dr. Miller came in he was able to walk right up to her, feel her head, talk to her, and “tatto” the top of her head with a permanent marker without her even flinching. She's amazing.  Anesthesia spent a lot of time talking with us about how they would do things differently this time to try to prevent the horrific post-op night Adeline had last time.  Dr. Miller admitted that was the first and only time he has had a baby "do all of that". (Link to Blog entry regarding "all of that")

They gave her a dose of tylenol and versed (well, they had me give it to her – they had learned that lesson before even trying to). It was pretty obvious when the versed kicked in – sweet (medicated) Adeline was back. She giggled, let her paci hang halfway out of her mouth and her even her babbles began to slur. But she was content. The whole surgical department said a thank you prayer to for versed.

Even with all of the kind staff stopping by, making sure all of our questions were answered, giving encouraging words, it was (of course) still hard to let her go. She tried to cry, but the versed made that difficult. So she just tilted her head back and reached for anyone to pick her up. I wanted to...but a surgical nurse did it for me.

It's strange how you can feel so empty - but so heavy at the same time - when you are left alone in the pre-op room...forced to let go.

Within a couple of minutes we were escorted out to the surgical waiting room.  There the sickness in our stomachs slowly lessened a bit as we sat and held eachother.  I looked around and realized that she is one of at least a dozen children in that operating department at the same time.  We sat next to a couple trying to entertain their 4 year old son.  We had seen them earlier with their 15 month old daughter in the surgery department's play room.  They told me that they are from Kansas City, their daughter has a rare bone disorder - I don't remember the medical name - but I had heard of it. Brittle bone disease.  We have so much in common, it's creepy.  In less than 15 minutes God had sent me someone to remind me that we have it soooooo good.  

The liason came out after about an hour to say that everything started fine.  All of the lines went in nicely, the first incision went well.  They are all back there just doing what they do.  Another day at the office.

I can feel all of the prayers that are being said around the world for Adeline right now.  And although I get angry that she has to experience this I am grateful that God has allowed me to grow through Him.
Sitting here, even sick to my stomach, I know that God is providing me with the peace that passes understanding.