Yesterday was a big and important day around here. My six year old daughter had to have a mole removed from her right arm. We debated the issue, but after two different pediatricians pointed the growing mole out to me, I decided to take her in to the pediatric derm. After some debate in the office and two different derms collaborating, we decided to move forward with the procedure and have it taken off.
So, for the last 3 weeks, my girl has agonized over the whole ordeal. Mostly, she was terrified of the shots they were to give her to numb the area. We had scheduled this surgery on July 2, so for 22 days she had been agonizing over the whole procedure. It was a pretty good size mole,especially on that little pencil of an arm, so they had to take a large elliptical area out and stitch it up. For weeks now I have been telling her how it is "no big deal" for the doctor who is brilliant and I have had several moles removed, etc, etc, etc. I even went as far as to bribe her with a shopping trip (and like a good little woman, she took me up on that offer) to choose a new little accessory or toy once out of the clinic.
We arrived at the office yesterday morning, and while the original plan was for Marc to be stay home with our four year old, he decided he wanted to come and just wait in the waiting room with the little guy. Owen and I get called back and she is dragging her feet with trepidation. We venture in the room and see the doc in her scrubs, and Owen begins to cry a little. She was really nervous, so the doc (who is so sweet and very maternal) calls in for another male nurse to assist (there was already one guy in there to start).
So, now there are 2 male nurses (or MAs, not sure of their credentials) and the female doc. The new one to join us is very easy going and easy on the eyes with a warm smile. He sees her tentativeness and tells her he has 2 daughters and they wear Crocs, too, etc, etc. I tell everyone how brave Owen is and how she is tough, has run 3 5Ks already, and this is no big deal for her. She is laying on the table with me at her left side, sitting on a stool next to her head. The doctor and the looker are at her other side, and the other nurse at her feet, handing off tools.
The doctor gets her numb, and while she winced a little bit and cried out, the three shots were over fast and then they were ready to get moving. I brought a Junie B. Jones chapter book to read to Owen during the procedure to distract her, and kept telling her not to look at her arm and what they were doing. So, I begin reading the book, about this little girl, Junie B. Jones, the first grader and how she lost her top tooth. In the book, as I am reading about the blood Junie B. spit out when her tooth came out, I start to feel a little dizzy. Then, suddenly, I feel hot and clammy. I tried to keep reading, but now I am distracted by the sound of the doc snipping the stitches and clipping the thread as it tightens around that stupid tool that clicks. I cannot get the words to come out of my mouth anymore.
"Mom," Owen says, "Keep reading."
I feel faint, and cannot even read the words anymore as they dance around the page and now I know I am going to faint. I want to get up and leave the room, but I know I cannot leave her. I promised I would be with her.
I leaned my head between my legs and the doc stops working, looks at me and then to one of the assistants and says, "Get mom some water". The less congenial nurse dude asks if I need water and I said, "No, I need air.." not even recognizing the sound of the voice that spoke those words and really feeling like an idiot. Some cheerleader I turn out to be when Owen says, "Mom, what are you doing down there?" as my head is between my legs. I told her, as I am hyperventilating, "Oh,Sweetie, I am fixing my pants, they are wrinkled."
My mind is racing and I am thinking, "What the heck am I going to do??? I am going to hit the floor!" The nurse comes back in the room with a fan and starts to blow it directly on me, and not one minute too soon, since now I am drenched in sweat. I sit up and Owen says, "Mom, why do you have your head laying on the table?" I said, "Oh, Honey, I want to see you better." I still wanted to vomit, but I tried to smile at her reassuringly. The doctor is working faster now and saying, "We are almost done. You guys are doing so great," her eyes darting back and forth between me and my daughter's exposed arm. The other MA at the doctor's hand says to me, "Yeah, you guys are a great team." If only they were more convincing, because I could not wait to get out of that spinning room.
"Mom, keep reading." Owen begs. I try to read some more, but I am instantly taken back to the days of when I was a kid and would try to read in the car. I used to get so carsick with the scenery speeding past us when I was trying to focus on the words on the pages back then. This was no different. The room may as well have been a carousel and as I read a few more words on that page about how Junie B.'s tooth was pulled out and bloody, and I had to stop again. It was killing me.
At last, the feeling of nausea subsided when the doctor said, "Okay, all finished." It helped when I realized her little arm was no longer with a gaping hole in it. I began apologizing profusely. I was so mortified that my girl was so totally fine and I almost hit the deck. They told me it happens all the time (yeah)and that I was white as a sheet. The doctor then handed a lolly pop to Owen and one to me, and insisted on me eating it, regardless of the calories. She didn't let me out of the chair for a while, either.
So, Owen did great. I almost passed out. Marc later said to me when he learned of the incident, "Why didn't you let me go in there with her?" And really, I told him that I did not see that coming at all! The scary thing was how fast that cropped up and came out of nowhere!One minute I was fine and not even concerned about the procedure. The next, I was going to fall off the chair. Why? Is it because this decision, like so many other ones in our current situation, was elective? Was I stressed about us making the right choice for our baby girl? I think I am overwhelmed with the stress of the move and the changes in their world, that this was just one more hurdle to get over.
Today, we had to change the bandage after bath time. Owen and I saw the aftermath of her once peaceful little mole. Under the steri strips there are blue stitches, gaping out like a little picket fence along the jagged cut. Caked in dried blood, the wound looks red and angry. One can make out what the scar will eventually look like. Owen said to me, "Quick, Mom, clean it and cover it again. That is giving me the Hebe Gibbie's!"
All I could think to myself was, "Yeah, me, too. I just hope Florida doesn't leave the same scar in the end." After all, I have same fears and misgivings about going across the country as she did going into surgery. Will the move give me the Hebe Gibbies once we are there? I cringe to even think about it.
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