I’m writing this post in the wee hours of the morning after putting Cupcake back to bed. I find it an honor that I got to hold her this morning. That she wanted me to. Even if it was for just a few short hours while she slept in my arms. It’s hard to get comfortable when you’re hurting.
I’m going to try to articulate what I have been experiencing the last few days, but I am not sure that I can really put into words what I am trying to share. I’ll give it my best go! For those of you who want the short version… Cupcake’s surgery went well. The healing process has begun. She has to be in her casts for six to eight weeks. It’s going to be a process, but it’s a miracle all the same. For those of you who want the rambling long version, keep reading.
Day before yesterday when Cupcake’s daddy came in to get her up because she was leaving for the hospital, (She sleeps in Grammy’s… a.k.a my… room right now because we are a pretty crowded bunch in this house.) Grampy heard her sweet little voice, “Good morning daddy.” So matter of fact and grown up. When Daddy told her it was time to go she simply said, “Okay.” When Grampy relayed what had happened in the early hours of that morning, it brought tears to my eyes. How can someone so little (not even three yet) be so grown up? Her experiences have made her into such a sweet little thing.
Monkey and I played hookey from school day before yesterday so that we could stay right by the phone. That way, Mommy could send text messages and updates, and we wouldn’t have to be worried in our classes, wondering if Cupcake was okay. We played with Raggy and I finished Monkey’s blanket that has been begging to be finished for months now while we waited to hear from Mommy about Cupcake. (Maybe another blog on the blanket later… who knows?)
It was all good news from the hospital end of things. The surgery went well, toes back in their rightful places. It sounds all positive and rainbows and gumdrops. But the thing that you don’t know is that positive and gumdrops still means severe pain and discomfort. It means cries and pain medicine and being held down to get the medicine in. It means bleeding thighs where they took the skin grafts that bleed on Mommy and Daddy and Grammy and brand new quilts and pillowcases. It means legs in casts that get bumped by big brother and uncle on accident. It means not being able to get really comfortable no matter what position you’re in. It means not being able to eat or drink without pain because of being intubated during surgery.
And the only reason why I tell all of this is because through it all… we hear, “Thank you.” After holding a screaming Cupcake so that we can get the pain reliever down her throat so that her pain will be lessened. After we wipe the sticky, syrupy mess off her mouth, she gives us the sweetest, “thank you”. After repositioning her legs which let out cries of pain, we get a “thank you”. Always “thank you”, “good morning”, “how are you?”.
While I was holding her this morning in the recliner, I started coughing from a little tickle I had in my throat. I was worried that I was going to wake her with my coughing, and that my jerking body would make her legs uncomfortable. She opened her eyes, and I was sure something like ouch was going to come out. Instead I hear, “You okay Grammy?” “Oh, yes honey,” I reply. “I just have a tickle in my throat.”
You see? The selflessness and the kindness that this little darling has overwhelm me to tears. Worried about me because of a little tickle in my throat when she just underwent major surgery. Her ability to look past herself and see others instead is beyond her years. She is a miracle. All around. And I am so grateful to be a part of her existence. Grateful isn’t even a strong enough word. God bless you Cupcake. Thank you for letting me be a part of your dance.
Enjoy the Dance! ;D