The Scalpel of Loss

 Tomorrow my older, 18-year-old has surgery at the same hospital where my younger kiddo spent the last days of his life. He and I were there for the first part of his surgery three years ago (only six months after Zane died). It was hard to go back then. But at the time, I was still existing in a fog-like state. I had only just received my latest cancer diagnosis, and the pandemic was only a mere four months old. I was pretty much out of body. 

Not this time around. 

This time, I’m feeling more anxiety than I did on the day of that first surgery. My oldest is feeling it, too. For him, some of it is due to the procedure itself, but that’s not the all of it. Yesterday he told me he hates the hospital: the smell, the colors, the fact that it’s filled with sick children. We had spent a lot of time there when Zane was alive. He was inpatient quite a lot. It became like a second home, and I never minded it when my kiddo was alive. And until the last admission, he always came home. 

Now? Now I can’t wait for this surgery and the subsequent follow-up in June to be over so that I never have to step foot in that hospital again. Don’t get me wrong, I’m grateful for all the talented sub-specialists who treated Zane. Almost all of the time, we had great care. The cafeteria food was pretty good. 

To make matters worse (or better, depending on what angle you perceive things), the surgeon who performed Zane's bilateral hernia repair and g-tube placement when he was 7-months old is also my older son's surgeon. He's the best there is--that's why we're seeing him. But interacting with him will ignite a whole lot of feelings. 

So I’m done. 

There are other nuances beyond these. The idea of my only living child going under anesthesia is terrifying. I’ve already had the worst happen. It absolutely cannot happen again. Yet…it could. My body knows it, my mind knows it. It could happen again. And yet it can’t. No way. No how. All has to be well with my last remaining child for things to be well with me. 

So I’m on edge today, trying to distract myself with writing and work. To some degree it’s been effective. But beneath the surface—in my nerve endings and at the bottom of my heart and stomach—I feel tomorrow looming. 

Loss and grief suck. They touch so many levels of a person’s life. Sometimes it’s hard to believe any of us make it through at all.