Endoscopy

It is a restless night that precedes any medical procedure, I think. The fact that we have to be AT the hospital for 6am doesnt help matters. If I slept in, if I missed the appointment, who knows how long it would take to get in again? The pressure is on in so many ways and it is hard to get settled in.

5 am comes too soon and we roll quietly from the bedroom and exchange quibbles about company in the hospital then straggle to the car; apprehensive and afraid. The morning light has already tinged the day with pink streaks in the clear blue sky--it is a beautiful day and the streets are mostly deserted. I fiddle with the radio, trying to make small talk with Julia as we trundle along the empty boulevard but she isn't interested.

We arrive at the hospital and flounder a bit with the ticketing system (bring it? leave it?), glad for the parking spot right by the door.

The dayward is already busy--other anxious kids clinging to anxious moms. Julia looks as though she'd like the floor to swallow her up and my words of reassurances sound hollow even to me. The line up lengthens behind us, snaking out into the hallway, and I try to point out other kids of the same ages. Julia looks at me silently and I pull her close.

My parents pull into the room, smiling, sunshine and roses; I try not to sigh too loudly. It is a mix of emotions to see them. I hand over the baby and watch them wheel to the far end of the waiting area. The lady doing the registration beckons us and I grab Julia's hand as we step up to the desk--it feels papery and dry and small. The nurse calls our name before we are even done registering. Julia whimpers as I answer simple questions and fish papers from the diaper bag and again when the hospital bracelet is secured around her wrist.

We wait in uncomfortable silence for the nurse to reappear. When she does I can feel Julia's anxiety palpable in the air. It feels cloying and desperate even though the nurse is comforting and kind. She shows us to a cubicle and directs us to a set of striped pajamas. There is a set too small and a set too large. More whimpering. Embarrassment. Fear.

The doctor who is doing the procedure introduces himself--he is a middle aged Indian man with kind eyes and a wry sense of humour. He tries to soothe Julia's anxiety and his answers help my own. The nurses tape fat globs of emla cream to the backs of Julia's hands and she whimpers again.

I coax Julia into the clothes--she firmly rejects the offer to wear a mismatched set--and stumble our way back to the waiting area. Julia is mortified at the thought of being in public wearing someone else's pjs. We see that Auntie Rachel has arrived and I am immediately glad for her company. A smaller kids area is blessedly empty and she hunches in a chair, a shrinking stripey wallflower and even Auntie Rachel's warmth does little to comfort her. Small smiles for the owl I brought for her hospital surprise helps to ease the awkward conversation and too soon we are called.

She sits on a hospital bed, wheeled into an operating room filled with people.

Their faces are friendly and the chatter surrounds us but their hands are busy and business like in their efficiency. The anesthesiologist introduces himself first to Julia and then to me as "Bob" and Dr. Persad's eyes smile at us above his green mask. I brace myself for a shitshow as they prepare the IV and I see Julia clench up. I will her silently to be brave and to be strong. They are so good about showing her all their equipment; the straw (not needle) that will deliver the medicine that will make her fall asleep.

"What if I won't fall asleep?" she wonders out loud. But as quickly as they slide the IV into her veins she is out and I ease back down the hall owl stuffy and pager in hand. I meander through the food court, suddenly hyper-aware of all the things that have become off-limits to her. I dont even have time to eat more than a bite of breakfast when I am called back. It is done and she is already in recovery. It has taken less than 30 minutes.

I hurry back and find her already awake and amazed "I cant believe it is already done. I dont even remember anything but my throat is sore"
The nurse offers her a popsicle and I nod when her eyes slide over to me to see what I think of that idea.

I have a quick chat with the doctor who reassures me that everything went smoothly and he didnt see anything alarming. The lab biopsy would return in a week with the results. Julia finishes up her popsicle and when the nurse urges her to have one more, she hesitates.

"You can have as many popsicles as you want. Mom and Dad's rules dont count here" the nurse declares. Julia agrees to "just one more".

By the time we leave, her spirits have risen considerably. She feels stronger and braver and happier. We leave the grandparents and make our way to the gift shop for the promised treat (she chooses a small stuffed owl) and head back to the food court to eat breakfast. Auntie Mellie meets us and the day's worries seem to fall away and dissipate in the warm May sunshine.