The waiting starts long before you’re in an actual waiting room. I started waiting the moment we learned there’d be a surgery number four. I started waiting this weekend, the closer it got to the day he’d be going under. And, instead of sleeping, I am waiting to drive him to the hospital, see them roll him back into the operating room, at which point I will again be waiting for them to tell me everything went as planned and he is fine.
And, yet again, I will be sitting in that waiting room for the fourth time, by myself in full on panic mode. You would think having three surgeries before would ease my mind a little about the competence of his doctors and the fact that he made it through all three previous surgeries just fine, but it doesn’t. In fact, thinking about the fact that each time they go into his head they have to remove more and more dead tissue/cells and that each entry into his head puts him at risk for a myriad difficulties during and following the surgery only makes me more stressed.
I want to believe everything is alright. But, it would have been really great that despite ALL of these things that I had a hand to hold and a shoulder to lean on while I am waiting.