i wanna be sedated

My oldest had all 4 of her wisdom teeth extracted last week. It was the first time any of my kids had to go under IV sedation and I was OK for the most part. In the weeks leading up to the surgery I wasn’t worried at all.

At the office though, filling out the release form, I started to get a little unnerved. As I read all the possible complications from the sedation or the surgery itself, anxiety crept in as I initialed on each line. You don’t think any of those effects could happen to you, but then seeing it in black and white and being asked to sign next to each statement makes you pause.

Especially when it’s for your child, and not for you. Any scenario where this routine surgery doesn’t turn out OK seems implausible. I filled out the form though and tried not to let each horrible outcome sit in my thoughts too long.

We go into the operating room together and I was totally fine. I was totally fine up until the point they inserted the needle into her little arm and slowly injected the sedation. Unexpectedly my mind flashed back to the only two other times I’ve seen this happen. My dogs. Both of whom we had to put down. I remember talking to them both as it happened. Soothing them. Telling them everything was going to be OK, knowing that they only had seconds left in their furry bodies.

Then seeing these same steps happening to my baby. It was too similar. My mind started to scream at me, but I remained silent.

I watched my daughter’s face.

Eyes open.

The doctor is talking to her, but I don’t really register what she is saying. I’m just watching my daughter’s face.

And in seconds, I see her go away. Her eyes are still open but she’s not there anymore. The sedation took over and nothing that happens now will register in her brain. Just like my dogs.

Her eyes are still open.

I internally freak. This is too real. This looks like my baby is dead and I just want to vomit and run and shake her awake. I didn’t like seeing this happen. The emotions crushed my throat.

As light-hearted and positive as I try to be most of the time, I sat in the waiting room as the surgery was performed and kept playing that image over and over in my head.

Her lifeless eyes. The procedure so similar to what I had to experience with my dogs.

I never want to see that again. 

The doctor called me back about an hour and 40 years later. Before entering her room, she pulled me aside and wanted to talk to me.

Dear Lord, no. What is wrong?!

As the worst possible scenarios from that piece of paper raced through my mind, the doctor reassured me first that Gianna was ok. But she took a while to wake up from the sedation (my girl does love to nap) and when she finally came to, she was extremely upset. Wouldn’t stop crying. That was OK. I’ll take a crying, alive child any day over the scenarios my mind was concocting up until that point.

I go into the room, and grab her small, cool hand. Her eyes are open and alive now. Red from the crying, but she’s there. She is still in her body and that’s all that matters. And yet again, my friends, another thing I was not prepared for as a parent.