Overshadowing all those great things in my mind has been the great Looming. She has another ear surgery tomorrow morning. We only told her Thursday, after school let out and after her joys that deserved inhibition were joyed. Then we made much of little things all weekend, that tooth and a big-girl bike without small-girl wheels and everything that we could, because tomorrow before the sun rises I'll be driving her to the surgery center.
If you're a hoper or prayer or magic-bean buyer (I'll take whatever you've got to give), would you throw some of your love our way for an easy and successful surgery tomorrow? We have to face the surgery itself, and here's the breath-holding part: we don't know if it will be successful. It might, and then we should be done forever. Or it might not, and then we'll have to do another more complicated surgery, in a full-fledged hospital with a specialty surgeon and more invasive details. And we just don't know. Tomorrow will work or it won't. Either way, it's all the things she fears: the strange invasive touch of unfamiliar medical professionals, the antiseptic smell that's never meant anything fun at all, the mask for the general anesthesia that's given her nightmares since she first watched it descend on her three years ago.
By the time you serve breakfast tomorrow, it will be over, though we won't know its impact for six weeks. But if you have a ray of optimism to spare as you wake we'd love to hold it for you.