Two weeks. It’s crazy to think there was time in my life when I didn’t know how to change a diaper, much less change the medical tape that molds her tender tissue day by day. But in two weeks my precious Ondine will have her first surgery.
A lot of folks see her, and her device that looks like different things to different people. some ask if its oxygen, some recognize it on sight. nearly everyone assumes I can’t wait for surgery. That’s not entirely true. I’m a little scared.
When she was first born I asked “can you see her face?” I must have asked multiple times, I honestly don’t remember. But I asked enough for my mom to bring it up one night when I broke down. She looked at me, telling her in tears how beautiful I thought my daughter was and gently reminded me I asked. And when the answer was yes and then the follow up was “does she have it?” The answer was yes. Then my mom asked me if my heart didn’t break a little. The answer was yes.
And then I saw her face. Her perfect little lip shaped beautifully like a heart. Strong legs that fully extended and pressed against my belly.
Her neck was so strong she lifted her head to look around moments out of the womb. She was perfect. I know I’ve said that before. I’ve written a lot on it. And I realize that all parents find their own children to be perfect. But in that moment I was challenged.
Now, 3 months later- hours of sleepless nights, days of frustration followed by moments of perfect glee we are just about there. So of course as our new journey begins I look back to where it all began. I’m shocked to see the changes. Because I’m with her everyday I hardly noticed them. Her whole face transformed. Her eyes became more clear, her nose formed a real structure and her perfect little lips got even closer together.
So we wait. Patiently for the OR to open its doors. A whole new set of challenges await us. But I’m ready. I think