It's been too long since I've written here, which is a shame because I have material to write about every day. And almost every morning, as I drive to work, I start thinking of what I'd write. I make imaginary drafts in my head, get very into it, and then I get to work. And it all stays there - in my head, until I forget it all...
So now I sit in bed, with my kids sleeping next to me (which typically means my husband is traveling), trying to go down my inventory of significant parenting moments I've had in the last few hours, and one is popping in my head.
My twelve year old daughter had oral surgery just three days ago. I don't know about you, but when I had my wisdom teeth out, I was in my mid-twenties. I had gone through junior high, and high school, and braces, and boyfriends and was already dating my now husband. So when my husband came home one day telling me that our orthodontist, who I have a lot of respect for, mentioned that he wanted my twelve year old - still in elementary school- daughter to get her wisdom teeth out, of course I called a conference with him to discuss this. Long story short, what he said made sense and we proceeded to book this surgery with one of the oral surgeon he recommended. We booked it for a month away and from the moment I did, my maternal worrying chromosome (all of us mothers have one, right?) started to do its work. I didn't think about it every day, but when I did, I felt angst. I knew it was a very straight forward procedure and when we met the oral surgeon he made me feel super at ease with it all. But still, I was not looking forward to seeing my firstborn in pain. That was really my biggest concern - not that things wouldn't go well or that she would have a hard time prior to the surgery or anything like that - I was very focused on her level of pain and how much she would swell. Perhaps this was a projection for me, since I was thinking of my own pain when I went through this some eighteen years ago. But my daughter is a tough cookie; she is brave and strong and positive, so she didn't really seem too worried until the morning of surgery. She was filled with angst then. I was putting up my best show pretending to be really relaxed. I didn't want to show or transmit my angst to her.
She went in with my husband to get her IV, anesthesia, etc. I stayed outside with my son, and good thing I did. Apparently the doctor had a hard time getting the IV going and things got a bit tense in there, almost to the point of postponing the surgery. I can be a bit impatient at times (ok, a lot), and witnessing all this poking on my daughter with a frustrated doctor would have put me over the edge. Lucky for me and my daughter, my husband balances me that way, and was extremely patient throughout this incident.
An hour later my daughter was in recovery and ready for us to come see her. The nurse came to get us and walked us to her through a different area of the clinic. So when she opened a door for us, I expected to walk through a hallway and in the direction of the room where MJ would be. Instead, right in front of me was my daughter, sitting in a recliner chair, with her mouth and eyes half opened, swollen and unable to make much sense of what was happening around her. My heart dropped the minute I saw her and I immediately had to put all my focus in making sure I didn't lose it in front of her. I had to keep my composure and focus on being there for her - for support and comfort and stability. But man it was hard.
And you see, this might not be the type of parental moment where I come out with a great lesson for parents and perhaps even for the children. This is more a parental experience, and how we become strong when we feel weak, and manage our emotions as it relates to experiences our children go to. But if I have to dig around for a lesson, here's what I'd come up with - trust.
First of all, trust things will go well. After doing the research, consulting our orthodontist and meeting with two oral surgeons, this was the right thing to do, the right time to do it, the right doctor to do it with. Second, trust your gut. Because I trusted my gut, we ended up in the hands of exactly the right doctor. At no time did my gut tell me that things wouldn't go well and because I listened to my gut and trusted it, we went through with the surgery and didn't let my overly protective tendencies procrastinate on it. And third, trust your kids. Have trust in their ability to sustain experiences and rise above them, and trust especially when they themselves know they can. We can't protect our kids from all kinds of pain; we can't live experiences, as tough as some might be, for them. So when you see that you might be a bit more nervous about them facing something than they themselves are, trust them, and don't let your protective tendencies make them feel unsure about themselves. They are sponges after all, absorbing our emotions more than anyone else's, and if we give them any indication that we don't trust them, they will second guess their own self trust; they will be crushed, not to mention what that'll do to their self confidence. So trust, trust it all, and be sure to be there for them as they trust too.
Well, what do you know? Maybe a lesson after all. There always, always is one.
