We found out last night that Sam needs surgery. Actually, we found out two days ago, but it was supposed to be done sometime next week.
Last night, we found out it was today.
It’s just Sam and I at the hospital. Marc needs to be home, he needs to work, and we both agree that the girls need a parent at home. So I’m here alone, and for the most part, it’s fine. It was a little touch and go earlier – when he was freaking out and someone had to talk to the doctor. He was terrified and wouldn’t let me leave the room, so he talked to the doctor too.
It’s not the average nine year old who could hear the surgeon casually talking about slicing a little hole in his eye and be able to handle it.
But he did.
He’s terrified. But he’s managing. I’m so, so proud of him – because he’s so brave. I’ve thought, so many times over the past couple of months, that Sam is a horrible patient. Because he is. But I’m realizing today that it’s less about Sam being a horrible patient and Sam being in a horrible situation. He’s just a little boy – and he’s had to deal with so many things, so many awful, terrifying things happening to him and he’s got no say at all.
He’s in the MRI now, and they’re doing another spinal tap afterwards. It’s going to take another half hour or so, and then recovery. Surgery tomorrow, and then maybe, we’ll go home tomorrow night. More than likely, it’ll be on Friday.