IN GOD'S HANDS

Its been seven long hours since our daughter went into surgery. After sitting for so long, my back is sore, my bottom is more sore and my feet look like balloons. I am high on caffeine from three different sources and I know that even if this leaves my system, I am past tired and into a total exhaustion which will not lead to sleep.

I have totally embraced my Catholic upbringing today. I've prayed for divine intervention from at least three saints, I've made deals with God and I've called up the words to any prayer I've ever known. At the end of the day it's all futile because I have to believe God has it under control and it's all in his hands.

I've met some lovely people today who appear genuinely touched by the FEDs story. One woman with terminal cancer walked away when we finished chatting, then returned almost immediately to hug me. It was unexpected support from a stranger and much needed. Even the husband who is not prone to outward displays of emotion looked touched.

Then there was the lady who was recovering from an aneurysm. She was full of thanks and gratitude for another chance at life, thanks to the hands of these miracle workers. She kept asking me if I was ok! It's a pointless question isn't it but she means well and is at the end of the day a complete stranger.

Speaking of the end of the day its now knock off time and all the receptionists have shut up shop. No more appointments at the adjacent breast clinic and shutters down in the neuro clinic. The husband and I sit here on our lonesome and wait as the doctors keep working in our daughter's brain. Her nurse comes out and apologizes for going home. She's been here since dawn and is asleep on her feet. She introduces us to her replacement. It's a touching gesture, a hand over and a sign that they are looking after us too.

My phone beeps incessantly with people world wide asking for news. It's a little overwhelming so I concentrate on her sister and grandparents only. This doesn't last long. Too many people care.

Finally a trolley with our daughter passes. She is awake but talking nonsense. Apparently she dreamed of shopping bags while under anesthetic. This relatively normal comment in a totally abnormal situation is my undoing and I start sobbing. Only my daughter could dream of her favorite  pastime (shopping) during brain surgery. The surgeons are pleased with her resilience and recovery. They're going back in tomorrow. She really is a work in progress.