Scheduling Surgery

As we got home after our day full of driving and appointments there was a message on our answering machine.  It was the scheduler from CMH.  She had a date of surgery for us and wanted to inform us of all that would need to occur between now and then.  It was too late to call back. 

I was crushed! 

I wanted to know. 

I needed confirmation again that this was the right path and finally putting a date to it all would give me a concrete peace of mind.  I had to wait though.  I called on my way into work the next day.  I had to leave a message.  So I went on in, pretending that I was okay.  Pretending that it was no big deal because this was my last week with my precious kindergarten kiddos and I wanted it to be memorable.

The craziest week for us teachers, is the last week of school.  However, this whole school year was almost a blur.  My kiddos had gone through so much this year.  I had gone through so much this year.  WE had gone through so much this year.  And yet day after day through my darkest times they had been my light.  They brought laughter to my heart when I didn’t think that I could laugh, they had been my complete escape from the constant thoughts of craniosynostosis.  They had been my kiddos that I would not forget.  The parents of my kiddos this year had been so very supportive and thoughtful, considerate and gracious.  So many had given us their thoughts and prayers during my pregnancy and complications, my bed rest and complications, the birth of our precious Cannon and his complications, yet, they didn’t know.  They didn’t know that something was wrong, but word spreads quickly and just like previously, I felt as though maybe if I didn’t voice it or say it out loud to the people around me it would not be real.  But word had spread and I never in a second wanted one of my parents to feel as though they were the “last” ones to know or to feel as though I had hid my situation from them. 

I knew when I signed up to be a teacher that my personal life was not private.  I agreed to that, but I still felt as though my children did deserve a right to privacy.  However, I wanted my parents to hear about it from the source not what might possibly be said.  So I wrote a note and sent it home.  Again, putting into words, Cannon’s diagnoses and treatment plan, broke my heart.  Little could I have imagined the response that I would receive from my parents.  It was so encouraging yet heartbreaking at the same time.  It broke my heart that here again I was sharing a burden with them. 

I waited for the scheduler to call me back.  Then the call came.  I called to have the counselor cover my class as I took the call privately. 

I needed a minute. 

The scheduler informed me that the surgery would not be the following week but it would be Monday, June 4th. Oh, okay? So we would need to go up to KC on Friday for Pre-op and labs and then Monday early afternoon is when the surgery would approximately take place.  I bombarded the scheduler with questions trying to ensure that there would not be a need to postpone or delay the surgery past the fourth.  I explained that I had seen other families go through delays but with Cannon’s age and our time issue I wanted her to ensure that nothing would get in our way from having the surgery on the fourth.  She told me that there would be no promises and that most of the time we would not know if it would be postponed until the evening prior to.  Even with us traveling it would not matter.  But the likelihood of it needing to be postponed due to a lack of beds in the PICU were not as high as a few weeks ago, during the flu and RSV season.  I had no choice but to agree.  Even though it was not when we hoped for we still would have the whole summer to be with Cannon while he adjusted…while we adjusted to our new norm.

I cried again.

I thought of the songs that had gotten me through all of this “Strong Enough” by Matthew West (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=A8JsRxVczmQ) and “He Said” by Group 1 Crew (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HZLsA8YP-6g).  Even though they constantly brought tears to my eyes they were my words, my songs and my heart.  They were my cry to God.

I had to hold on. 

I walked back into my room and little did I know that there was a gift that I would be given.  I had ordered all the kiddos a book for a kindergarten “graduation” gift.  I had never read the book before, but I had seen it in the catalog that I ordered it from and read the blip informing me about what it was about and thought it would be perfect.  Well for my read aloud that day I was reading the book to the kiddos so that they would recognize it when they recieved it and be excited that they knew the story.  I had no idea that it would be exactly what I needed in that moment, that day, through this whole ordeal.  Every page touched my heart in ways that I will never be able to forget that moment.  My heart broke while reading the book because the book was my story, is my story, it was and is our story through all of what we have experienced and have yet to experience.  I wanted to cry but I had to go on.  I had to be strong enough at least in that moment to finish.  I could not say thank you enough for that book.  One of my favorite most fitting pages says...

“You’ll go through tunnels, surrounded by dark, and you’ll wish for a light or even a spark, you might get scared or a little sad, wondering if maybe your track has gone bad.  So here is some advice to help ease your doubt; the track you took in must also go out, so steady yourself and just keep on going—before you know it, some light will be showing.  And then you’ll be out, heading to a new place.  You’ll be ready for the new tunnel you face.”

The book is I Knew You Could by Craig Dorfman.  You can read the book in its entirety online (http://www.wegivebooks.org/books/i-knew-you-could?auto_launch=1&rel_campain=190056)