The Roller-coaster...

11/10/2012: Time has slipped away, taking without asking and yet still somehow drawing things out like pus from a wound.

Let me begin with a very brief recap of the last month...

Tina from Starship Spine Service rang to discuss Megan's first appointment scheduled for about the first week in November.  In our conversation I mentioned how eager Megan was to have the whole thing over and done with.  On the 18th September 2012, I received a phone call from Tina again, she said that while a bit out of the ordinary, a child that was booked for surgery next week was unwell.  The usual process for them to follow is to then begin with the most severe case and ring patients to find out whether they wanted to take this earlier and now available spot.  Our conversation was still fresh in her mind and so she rang me.  "Would you like to take the surgery spot on Wednesday, next week - the 26th September?" said Tina.

After discussion with Meg and Haydn we decided that we would go ahead.  Gulp!

(You know the initial jerk you feel as the roller-coaster begins to move?)

Friday 21st September (Megan's 14th Birthday) we headed off to Starship Spine Service for our pre-op consultation.  First Stop, x-ray... we were there for about 45 minutes and then went to the day clinic rooms where we waited over an hour to be see by the Doctors.  Matthew is young, but professional he is a surgery resident and examines Megan prior to her being seen by Doctor/Mister Ferguson.  During his examination he thinks he feels a lump behind Megan's knee.  Since we are here anyway, he decides to get the knee x-rayed too, so back down we go... another 30 minutes pass and we return to the day clinic rooms and wait another 20 minutes, tick, tick, tick...

(The climb up to the precipice of the track is slow and tedious, clickety, clack)

Finally we are called back into a consulting room where Matthew assures us that there was nothing on the knee x-ray and hands us over to Dr Ferguson.  He briefly discusses the surgery and introduces his little team of students that hang on every word like gospel.  I feel my stomach tighten as they explain how they will straighten her spine.  All too quickly for me to process, the surgical team are gone and the anaesthetist arrives to explain his bit.  He puts us at ease with his professionalism and kindness, he does not talk down to Megan and explains to her all the needles and tubes that she will be subjected to, he does not miss anything but delivers the information in such a way that we are confident in his ability.  He is also the head of the pain team who will see and treat her after surgery, we all agree that he is very nice.

(The first dip is so quick that before you realise you are afraid, you are going up again and taking a deep breath to reassure yourself, that was not so bad!)

It is at this point that the team realise that today is in fact Megan's birthday and so they insist that the rest can be done next Tuesday when she is admitted and that we should go and enjoy what is left of our day.   It is 16h30 we have been there since 12pm.  What a fun 14th Meg is having so far... The weekend passes in a blur of birthday activity and shopping for hospital attire, etc.  Before we realise it is is Tuesday and Megan is to be admitted at 2pm to Starship hospital.

(A couple of twists and turns, ups and downs and one loop de loop, yeah we can do this!)

Ward 24 A, Orthopaedics
Room 11 is a 4 bed ward, there is a chubby boy, same age as Meg across from her, he has a drip in his hand but all in all looks well enough.  Beside him is a younger boy - Jack who has a broken arm - so far he has had 2 surgeries to fix the damage that a fall out of a tree will do.  He is 7 and full of beans - seems quite happy and perhaps a little bored.  The bed beside us is enclosed with curtains - no sounds emerge...

Megan feels silly being forced to sit in a bed when she feel fine, soon enough things begin to happen.  The nurses take some personal info and then put some special creams on both her arms to numb them as she will need bloods drawn.  Meg is afraid - her aunt and father have managed to convince her that needles are the most terrifying thing on this green earth.

When the bloodsucker arrives I tell Meg not to look, she pops in her earphones and listens to music on her iPod looking out the window, her face is scrunched with fear.  She looks at me nervously and asks if it has started yet, I smile and say, "No, not yet, keep looking this way".  A moment later the blood has been taken and the needle is out.  I tell Meg and she turns her head - disbelief evident - she felt nothing at all, "Wow, Dad and Neen are real wussies!" she laughs.  My brave girl.

The day passes in a haze of Sponge Bob and other awful shows blaring from the TV mounted on the wall.  I feel as though my head will implode, just to relieve the frustration, how I hate Nic TV.  I am aware that this is an unexpected reaction, I can still, very clearly, remember a time when I thought I would always love cartoons.  That was before Sponge Bob and other such crap!  Bring back the Gummi Bears and I'll watch, okay? Parents are invited to room in with their children and so I get to "sleep" on a plastic covered sponge mattress on the floor beside her bed that night.  Sleep is as elusive as the Yeti, I read until about 3am and finally succumb to slumber.

(Jerk, we are approaching another really steep incline.  I am afraid!)

It's 6:30 am and the ward is bustling.  Megan is given a special bar of soap and told to go an shower, making certain to wash her back with the antiseptic bar.  I am not invited.  My stomach churns with dread, it is today.  Haydn arrives and at 8am we are wheeled down to the pre-op room where Megan is already buzzing from the pre-med that she swallowed down at 7:45, the lure is put into her hand with almost no fuss, she is a happy little cloud.

My heart is thumping in my chest, my hands are cold and I taste bile at the back of my throat, it is hard to swallow past the lump in my throat, my eyes ache with unshed tears.  I know that I am not going to be able to hold it together much longer.  Tears roll as I give her a hug and say, "see you later".  Haydn and I have already discussed this and he will go into theatre with her, he is my mighty oak.

As the bed carrying my precious baby is wheeled away my strength and courage are purged like they never were.  I go back into our little room and the floodgates burst!  I have the unnatural feeling of a mother bear who has not only let them take her cub but also knows that she is in harms way - even if it is to heal and not to harm.  The primal scream in my broken and fearful heart is anguish like I have never known and never want to know again - not ever!  It is 08:37am on Wednesday the 26th of September, this is the start of my longest and hardest day.

(The roller-coaster is on a downward spiral that feels like it will never end!  I wish I could stop this thing!) 

To be continued..