Number Eight: This Is Our Normal



Today marked Olivia’s eighth surgical procedure. This was the eighth time I put on a puffy, blue hair net paired up with an equally unfashionable light, blue Johnny shirt; all necessary for inside the OR. This was the eighth time I carried my little girl into an operating room, surrounded by strange masked faces and numerous medical machines (beeping and making strange noises), where I place her down onto a narrow operating table.

It was the eighth time I watched the fear in Olivia’s eyes as they stick, poke and tape foreign objects to her, all the while listening to her medical team attempt to explain to her the purpose of each. As I hold her hand and tell her, “you’re ok, Mommy’s here” my heart is quietly shattering. In my mind, I tell myself this is necessary, when in reality I hate seeing her go through any of this and am doing everything to not break down and bawl. Then I get in close, once the mask goes over her face, and I sing to her. I watch her little eyes become heavy, falling deeply into a medicated slumber. I kiss her head, say a silent prayer for “please God, protect my baby and give her strength.”

This has become a part of our normal. Doctors appointments, hours upon hours of physiotherapy and occupational therapy, and thousands of dollars spent on equipment needed to assist in muscle development, posture support and mobility. Countless sleepless nights spent trying alleviate pain brought on by muscle spasms and surgical procedures required to lengthen hamstrings, release hip abductors, heal chords and to assist in dietary improvement.

Olivia’s little body has been tattooed with forever reminders of each and every procedure. Each scar she carries, is representative of a battle she has fought. With each procedure she endures, strength is achieved. I call her my warrior for a reason. Cerebral Palsy has provided her with a body broken and riddled with pain and discomfort, but through all of it, Olivia has persevered. She has fought and pushed through each of these battles with a courageous spirit.

Sometimes being strong, means feeling the pain, but not letting it consume you. Sometimes, even no matter how strong you are, the pain breaks you. This is the fine line we walk….every….single…day. The truth is, this may be our normal, but I’ll never get use to it. I’m her Momma and she’s my baby, and our babies (no matter their age), should never have to endure pain; of any kind.