Surgery Day.
I think I slept a collective 2 hours before our surgery; even that may be generous.
Mom and I sat awake around 2 o’clock in the morning piddling on our tablets. Honestly, there’s this strange mix of peace and worry before going into a procedure like this. At one point, I just remember thinking, “This really could be it today.” My alarm went off at 4:30 and I began the process of getting ready for fetal surgery. They give you this pack of gel and sterile strips to clean yourself with. It’s thick, cold, and smells straight up like isopropyl alcohol. They ask you to wash your entire abdomen and thigh area with it, and let me tell you…your skin does not appreciate it. Mom and Cameron were starting to get up and get things together. Cameron, always optimistic, was already cracking jokes about how early it was, how Atticus was going to be grounded for at least 5 years (I personally have bumped it to 7), and getting mom ready for the “goodbye” we were all kind of nervous for since getting into Nashville the day before. For a split moment, I remember looking at my stomach in the mirror just kind of wondering what my body would look like after. Would the scar be as big as they were predicting? Would there still be a baby inside once the procedure was done? It’s crazy to me looking back how normal those thoughts are in the moment that are definitely along the lines of traumatizing once the event is over. To me in that moment, though, they were very real. Once we were together, suitcases packed and ready, I turned to my mother and instantly felt my heart sink to my stomach. Even as I write this now, tears are welling up in my eyes remembering this moment.
“This is it!” I said to her, holding back tears.
She grabbed me and hugged me, both of us knowing what we were standing in that particular moment in time. This could be the last time you see your mother.
With a click of the hotel door, Cameron and I were off.
Since learning about Atticus’ diagnosis, we have dubbed the song, “Overcomer” by Mandisa as our Little Bub’s theme song for life. Each time we played it, he seemed to move around just a little bit more, or kick me in just the right spot so it only seemed right. Cam and I got into our car, I had the song cued up. Immediately I broke. We pulled out of the parking garage and I began to sob (while driving, poor Cameron!). Mandisa sang to us, and my little guy started moving like he always does. I just remember telling Cameron I was terrified. I was praying if this wasn’t meant to be, God would put some kind of obstacle in our way; let my car break down. Let us get pulled over. Let my Covid test come back positive and we had to reschedule. I kept thinking about Jesus in the Garden when he was praying the night he was to be arrested.
38 “Then he said to them, “My soul is overwhelmed with sorrow to the point of death. Stay here and keep watch with me.” -Matthew 26:38
I knew God was with me and Cameron in the car, he was with mom in the hotel as she was sitting by herself while all of us looked into an unknown future.
39 Going a little farther, he fell with his face to the ground and prayed, “My Father, if it is possible, may this cup be taken from me. Yet not as I will, but as you will.”- Matthew 26:39
I kept thinking to myself it was okay to be afraid because Jesus was more than likely afraid that night, too. But He didn’t let his fear stop Him. He didn’t let his fear consume Him. He asked the same prayer I did, that God would take his cup if it’s what was supposed to happen. Yet God knew the outcome of both of our situations already. Our drive to the hospital was not long, but it felt like an eternity. Crying, nauseated, scared, and overwhelmed with what was about to happen we finally pulled into the parking garage at Vanderbilt, our home for the next 7 days, and sat for a second.
“You ready?” Cameron asked. His confident smile giving my heart just a little bit of peace.
“Let’s do this.”
Walking into a labor and delivery room is nerve wracking and exciting at the same time. Cameron began looking at every button, screen, and piece of furniture the room had to offer while I changed into my purple surgery gown. I came out of the bathroom and both of us immediately cracked up. Here I was, hair in an obscene pineapple, no eyebrows or makeup, too-big-for-my-face glasses, beautiful lashes thanks to Kayla, and a blueberry looking hospital gown swallowing my body. Needless to say, it was the comedic relief we needed.
The Blueberry- Original Work by Vanderbilt University Medical Center Labor and Delivery Team
The medical staff at Vanderbilt University Medical Center is nothing short of amazing. We met our nurse, Taylor, who would be my first of many phenomenal caregivers over our stay. She went over the procedure once more, talked to Cameron about recovery and timelines, and then began the arduous task of getting IVs and monitors in for the actual surgery. Y’all, I have tattoos and piercings literally everywhere. I hate needles, especially ones that live in your body for long periods of time. We listened to Atticus’ heartbeat for a few minutes, which at that moment was the most beautiful sound in the world. The anesthesiology team came in and did their thing. Epidurals should be a form of cruel and unusual punishment going in before the happy juice sinks in, but that is just my personal opinion. Checking vitals once more, they unhooked my bed from everything, making sure the mass of tubes around my body didn’t get hooked. Honestly, if it weren’t for the medication going through my IV at the time when I said goodbye to Cameron, I don’t think I would have been able to go through with the procedure at that point in time. I remember looking at his beautiful blue eyes, taking in how they wrinkled up in the corners as he smiled. I remember touching his face and running my fingers along his jawline; the same jawline it looked like Atticus was going to have. We didn’t really say much, but I wanted to take in every last detail of his face just one more time before we had to leave each other.
“I love you so much,” he said. We hugged through the tangled tubes of IVs wrapped all around my body. I just remember wishing we could stay like that for a few more minutes. One more time, that same familiar, comforting voice drifted into my head; the unmistakable voice of our Lord that I learned to lean on for the past few weeks; the peaceful voice that breaks through anxiety, tragedy, and heartbreak at just the right moment. I let go of Cameron and laid back in the hospital bed, listening to God tell me, “You can trust me.”
The operating room was literally buzzing with people. I mean, at one point I counted 10 different staff, all cheerful and excited going about their jobs like it was a normal Tuesday. My anesthesia team and Taylor helped me over to the surgery table while we worked on my second part of the epidural. Since my body was dehydrated from not eating or drinking, the team had a difficult time getting everything together while I sat on the bed. Again, my amazing nurse stepped in and helped me to get comfortable while they worked. You feel so vulnerable in situations like these; your body is exposed to strangers. You’re away from the love and comfort of your family. You’re scared, even through medicine that helps keep you calm. Things are beeping, buzzing, freezing. And yet this woman whom I knew for a collective hour and a half embraced me with comfort that is hard to put into words. She, like so many others, were just another part in God’s amazing path to help me and my son on our journey through this procedure. Epidurals were in, oxygen was next, my anesthesiologist told me to pick a happy dream, and the last thing I remember was telling my team to take care of Atticus, please.
Somehow in the fog of waking up, I remember seeing Cameron’s face and immediately asking him about Atticus. The surgery was a success, his lesion was on the L3 vertebrae, the doctors were extremely happy with how everything went. He was going to be okay.
““Have I not commanded you? Be strong and courageous. Do not be frightened, and do not be dismayed, for the Lord your God is with you wherever you go.” Joshua 1:9
Writing about this experience so far has not been an easy feat. I find myself avoiding writing for days on end because it’s hard to go back and visit emotions you didn’t realize you had in that specific moment, especially emotions like the ones from surgery day. Cameron, mom, and I talk a lot about how it’s important to speak when these thoughts come into our minds because it isn’t healthy to keep them locked away. For everyone who has read these posts, thank you from the bottom of my heart. They aren’t designed to be seeking any kind of attention, but rather to be read to help others to know it’s okay to be weak. In that weakness is when God does some of his absolute best work. Being in recovery so far away from home is difficult, so writing about our experience is just one way to healthily cope with our journey through both the amazing and the challenging. Again, thank you to everyone who has supported us in this adventure so far! The next post will dive into recovery, being away from Cameron, living an hour and a half away from home, and “modified bed-rest.”
