Dear Surgical Team,
On Friday morning, I will be walking through the doors of your institution once again.
I will be entering with frayed nerves, an anxious heart, and a starving child.
I will be feeling guilty for having consciously made the choice to submit my son to what the day will hold.
I will be emotionally-charged, trying to hold it together for the sake of my little one.
I will have all the information I have been given about the risks of this surgery in the forefront of my mind the entire time.
I will be required to hand over my baby boy, my firstborn, to you, who are strangers to me.
To give up control (or at least my perception of control).
To literally place his life in your hands.
To gently lay him down on an operating table, watch as you put him to sleep, and quickly be ushered from the room.
I will spend the next hours of my life seemingly in limbo.
Constantly worrying, agonizing, rife with the feeling of powerlessness that comes from not knowing what is happening on the other side of the door.
As I mentally prepare for what Friday will bring, I ask that you keep the following at the forefront of your thoughts:
Please keep my baby safe.
Please treat him as if it was your own child lying on the operating table in front of you.
Please understand that no matter how routine you believe this surgery to be, it is not routine for us.
Please use wisdom and discernment to make the best choices possible for him.
Please give me a little extra understanding and grace. My emotions will be raw, and I may need you to cut me some slack.
Above all, let me reiterate, please keep my baby safe.
Me. (on behalf of every parent who’s child has ever had surgery)
And a few photos to keep my mind off of Friday…