Port Surgery Day


Today is port surgery day, and right on schedule, all of our nerves are on edge. Still, laughter rings through the air. We depart on schedule. Unfortunately, traffic is a disaster in our sleepy little town. An accident on the interstate, someone will not be arriving home today, putting everything in perspective. We arrive at Hopkins, a few minutes late. Chris realizes he forgot his wallet, which means no driver's license for his ID badge. Thankfully, we have been here. We have done this routine before. The three of us sit in the family surgical room. 

Since we were last here nine months ago, the only thing to change is the faces of the strangers surrounding us. We get settled into the pre-op area. Vitals are needed, and labs are completed. My signature is required several times, giving everyone authorization to treat our Baby Girl. Jayde's nurses quickly discover why her surgery is necessary, as they have difficulty finding a vein for her IV. Twenty minutes later, they are successful. After she is fast asleep, I release her hand and exit the operating room. I walk out, thankful she is unable to see the tears covering my cheeks. I could never bear to watch the surgery these skilled professionals are about to perform on my daughter. Still, I cannot stop the pang in the pit of my stomach prompted by needing to leave her. Like the last surgery, this will not cure anything, but it will give her a quality of life she has not known in years. Chris and I walk the halls, eat lunch, and wait. It all seems too ordinary, natural — finally, time to see our Baby Girl and the beautiful smile which lights up our world.


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