Surgery DayJoli is home after a long day at the hospital. It was really quite emotional for me, and I'm sure for her, too. The last time we were in that same pediatric surgery ward at MGH, Joli was only 2 years, 2 months old and getting her port-a-cath placed in to begin chemotherapy. I just remember being in the waiting room and thinking, "Oh my God. My child is going to begin chemotherapy." We had already "recovered" from the trauma of her enucleation, and the news of chemotherapy came as such a surprise to us. A year ago, we brought in a toddler who was terrified of standing on a scale to be weighed, was petrified of "drops" and "masks", and who didn't even want to go near any doctors.
This time around, for better of for worse, a very confident, older Joli walked down the hall, greeted each and every single nurse with "Good morning. I'm Joli. What's your name? What are you going to do to me today?" I remember vividly the nurses explaining things to Joli in child friendly terms like, "We're just going to give your arm a little hug". A year later, Joli replies with "Yes, I know. That's for my blood pressure." When the nurse put on the oxygen reader onto her toe, she said, "This is my little orange light and bandaid to place on your little finger." To which Joli confidently replies, "Yes, I know. That's so you can check my oxygen when I'm sleeping."
I remember the first day we finished chemotherapy and we were leaving the hospital. Our little 2 year old Joli grabbed her Dora rolling suitcase and insisted she walk her self all the way from her hospital bed to the parking garage (quite a walk,I might add!). This time, Joli insisted she walk herself into the operating room. The nurse wasn't really sure how to react because I think it's pretty rare she gets a 3 year old (or any kid) to walk willingly down the long hallway, past all the surgeons looking as intimidating as possible, into the surgery center, and into any operating room. But, not our Joli. At one point, as we were walking to the OR, I had to choke back tears. She was walking a few steps ahead of us, and then turned and said, "Where's my Dad? I'd like to hold his hand. " So, Daddy and Joli walked hand-in-hand to the OR. I almost felt as if she was trying to comfort us rather than the other way around. There are a few moments in life that you never really forget. I know I'll never forget that one....
Also, as every good nurse says to us whenever we bring Joli in for anything, they always say, "Don't worry. She probably won't remember any of this." They are wrong. Completely wrong. Joli can tell you every single minute detail of every single experience she has had. She remembers , better than we do , the names of almost every nurse she has ever had (or at least every conversation she has had), her different roommates from the hospital, certain quirks that each doctor has, and even the anesthetic flavoring she's had on her masks (banana last time, bubble gum this time).
Well, to make a very long and very emotional day short, Joli is now resting in bed. She has a few internal stitches in her chest, a huge bandage covering her incision, and some soreness. Her recovery shouldn't be too bad, though. All week, she's been anxious about having her Port removed, but she does understand that removing the port means no more chemo.
It's late. I'mgoing to bed to snuggle my brave, incredible, wonderful 3 year old survivor. Yet another chapter -- or milestone -- of our crazy year has been achieved.
Daddy's Girl the day before surgery
On the way to MGH!
Joli's oxygen levels were low during recovery. She wasn't a fan of me sticking this tube in her face....
After a few hours in the recovery room, Joli was feeling a little bit better. Jorge even got her to "flex her muscles" and show off her sans port chest!
* Jada says, "You mess wid my sista, you mess wid me and my entire cribbb!"
