I have seen the inside of an OR more times than I’d like to admit. This will be Olivia’s fourth procedure and her fourth time being put to sleep. It’s the fourth time I put on one of those funky OR gowns with the poofy mesh hat and held my baby’s hand while the doctor held a mask over her face to put her to sleep. It’s the fourth time I’ll sit anxiously in the waiting room, outside the recovery area, patiently waiting the surgeon’s arrival to let me know everything went ok.
It never gets easier…
The reality is, this is a part of Olivia’s life. A life living within a body that fails her. A life in which she will always rely on doctors to help “mend” her body.
Today, when we entered the OR, Olivia remembered. She remembered the awkward table she needed to lay on. She remembered the masked faces that surrounded her and she remembered the uncomfortable mask they were putting on her face. I knew she remembered because those big blue eyes of hers looked up at me in fear, with tears pouring down her face. I took my baby’s hand, got close to her ear and sang her favorite song until she fell asleep.