Emmilou’s Surgery: Preparing for the Hospital Visit
And just like that, the call comes in. Out of nowhere, and knocks the wind out of you. You think that the more times it happens the easier the feeling gets. But that is not the case. Resilience is built but trauma is collected.
The hospital called to tell me that our surgery date is booked. It’s that time again to plan for an in-stay, pack a hospital bag and to begin stacking on that mental armour. But something about this time feels different, this time my baby is old enough to know what is going on. She has questions, she has anxieties… she is scared. I can no longer just take her into hospital and distract her till the time I watch her drift off into an anaesthetic-induced dreamland. I need to explain what is to come, what she can expect, and comfort her through this shared experience. But I don’t have all the answers- I want to know the same things.
I too am scared. Putting on a brave face for my baby feels like a mask. A mask that has been plastered too thickly- it is heavy. It is necessary.
In the weeks leading up there is lots to consider. How will I shelter her from the intricacies of the doctors’ “explanations of what’s to come”? How will I make her feel comfortable and safe in the hands of those that must hurt her to mend her? How will I keep it together, so she can rely on me- pull from my reserves when hers are low? How can I prepare for that day, and the days after?
I like to turn my anticipation into action. There are a few things I do immediately to prepare for the foreboding surgery date, to help ease some of the mental load and check off the necessary boxes:
I start by marking all the dates in the calendar, in a colour that represents ‘hospital visits’, so that regardless of my cloudy mind I don’t miss any important dates
I get a notebook/or open a note on my phone and start jotting down questions as they arise, so I can ask the relevant specialists when the time comes
I tell family and friends: because during these times we, as parents, need support too. We need people we feel comfortable crying to, chatting our jitters out with, and venting our frustrations and pain too
I tell Emmiou’s community support teams, her allied health professionals, her schoolteacher and aid and any of her extracurricular activity heads
I make preparations for Emmilou’s baby sister, a plan so that she is made to feel special, loved and looked after when I am not around to provide these things
I make a list of all the things I need to pack and buy the things I don’t yet have that I need to take with me to the hospital
Most importantly. I CHECK IN WITH MYSELF. I know that I need to be strong, brave and ready. It can help to talk to a professional about your anxieties and work through some strategies to combat them: a general practitioner, councillor or psychologist is a good start
These are the first steps and with all this in mind, it is time to tell Emmilou. I try my upmost to make this conversation as light and positive as I can. I get all my tears cried out so that I can put on that brave face she needs to see as I talk her through the coming weeks - and answer the questions I can. It is important to be as honest as you can, so I reassure her that any questions I don’t have answers for- we will ask the doctors. I go to great lengths to reassure her that her feelings are validated, normal, and considered. But I don’t let her dwell on them, or labour over the negatives. This is not easy, and most hospitals have specialists that can help coach you through what to say, and how to go about it all. Just ask at the switchboard whom you can speak with, or if your child has a complex nurse/surgical nurse liaison- ask them.
To ease the blow: presents are a good idea. I know it sounds a little like I am buying into commercialism, but kids love gifts! This time around I got Emmilou a suitcase of her own so she can help pack her hospital bag. It is her favourite thing right now: an outlandishly bright pink Barbie bag. This dazzling beauty helped to bring a little ‘joy’ to breaking the news, and a sense of independence for her in organising what she wants to bring with her. It’s the usual:
Priority One: Arlo, her blue dinosaur teddy comforter
Bedding, her pillow, pj’s (that button up at the front), some toys, craft kit, dressing gown, slippers, undies, books and the other medical/toiletries essentials
A few days out, we do a snack run: to grab all her favourites to pack last min.
As the days tick by, and that feeling of anxiety sits heavier on your shoulders- remember to be kind to yourself! Ask as many questions as you like, cry all those tears out, visit your happy place as much as you like and grab take away or cut corners. Do what feels right for you and your family. Remember, you’re not alone in this. There is a village of support: just reach out.
If you feel like it’s getting too tough, or need any advice on preparing for hospital visits, RippleAbility is here for you, just a phone call of email away.
Much love, Monique x
