Our little wonder was diagnosed a little over a month ago with a hemangioma- a benign tumor- under her right eyelid. Not a terribly uncommon condition in children, but because of it's location and its threat to her developing eye and eyesight, it needed to be treated with medication. Unfortunately, to begin her treatment, she had to be admitted to the hospital for at least a 48 hour stay, so she could be monitored. Fortunately my wife and were allowed to stay with her for the duration.
I've been in the hospital for out-patient procedures, and for a few days with my wife when our little girl was born- never really an enjoyable time. But nothing compares, nor adds to the trials of the process as when the patient is your child. Adding to the heartbreak, are all the other children you see- and their parents wearing looks of concern and emotional exhaustion. Even with all the worry and nervousness I was experiencing, even with the all the wires attached to her little body, it made me really grateful that my little girl wasn't there recovering from major surgery, or wandering through the halls with an IV drip following close behind, or in worse condition. It was all there on display in our little corner of the ward.
(Emotionally unattached rant:) Speaking of those we shared or little corner with- and on a lighter note- and not to pat ourselves on the back- it appears as though my wife and were the only people who seemed to have any respect for those around us. These poor sick little children's cries paled in comparison to the noise made by their adult companions. People very loudly speaking on their phones, or talking to each other as if they were in separate zip codes despite the fact they were sitting next to or very near each other. There was a posted "Quiet Time from 1-3pm" sign that was never observed. And overheard at 3 am one morning was some guy saying, "Man this place is like a ghost town," with the subtlety of a lawn mower in a library. It's three o'clock in the morning dude, SHUT THE F UP. I understand everybody has their own ways of dealing with stressful situations, but is it too much to ask that they do it in a quieter fashion? It is a hospital after all, not the mall. When I'm trying to keep my daughter calm after being poked and prodded- I don't need to hear somebody talking about their leaky kitchen sink. Emoting over the state of your infirmed child is understood, discoursing at volume about your plumbing is not.(End of rant)
The greatest news came when we learned that she was responding well to the treatment, and that we'd be going home today. Her treatment was only just beginning, but now it could continue in the privacy of our home- away from the hubbub of others' chaos, and away from the reminders of how much worse it could be.
I'm glad that at only 11 weeks old, this isn't an experience she'll ever remember. I'm glad that she's too young to know that she should be afraid. And I'm filled with unbelievable gratitude that we're back in our own beds tonight. At one point this morning, I looked down in the eyes of my little girl and asked her to promise me she'd never be sick enough where she'd have to come back to this place. A promise I know she doesn't really have control over- but nonetheless a promise I hope with all my heart she keeps.
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