The Journey Inward

Growing up
with two brothers and a sister,
we had more than our share
of accidents, injuries and issues
that required emergency rooms
and at least a couple of surgeries each.

My brothers were "rough and tumble,"
inside and outside the house,
and no risk was too great
in the pursuit of a win 
in any of the hybrid sports they invented.
And so there were broken bones
and stitches, lots of stitches.

Although my sister remained unscathed,
I had three surgeries by the age of 20.
It seemed this was just life
back in the '60s,'70s and '80s,
when parents sent us out to play
with a vague notion of where and with whom,
but a strict edict to be home by dinner
and after dinner, by dark.

Despite having three active girls of my own,
who each played 3 sports year round,
on school, town and travel teams,
plus the homespun tree climbing,
bike riding, jumping off swings
and the like,
the injuries were few~
3 ankle sprains,
some wisdom teeth extracted,
and one broken nose.
No stitches, no surgery.

So I wasn't anticipating the nerves, 
the anxiety I felt
the night before G’s surgery
as I picked her up at college
and we settled into a nearby hotel,
me closely reading her surgery information packet
with all of its do's and don't's.
I didn't sleep a wink that night
in the few hours we had before our early rise
and drive to the hospital. 

I kissed her cheek,
and the top of her head, 
as they wheeled her away to surgery,
and hung on every text update sent,
forwarding the information to family and friends,
who buoyed my spirits from a distance.
I was flooded with relief
when the surgeon came out to talk with me
and shared the damage he saw
and the work he did to fix it,
deeming it a success,
though months of recovery, healing
and physical therapy will be needed
before she's back on her feet~
quite literally!!

Pacing the halls, 
I had felt so much worry,
so much fear, so much responsibility;
my shoulders felt the weight
and my chest, the pressure.

In those moments of parental vulnerability,
I thought of my mom,
the head of that family of accidents,
injuries, and dumbass antics,
and how calmly she weathered
all our pain, treatment and operations,
with such confidence.
We were a "stiff upper lip" kind of family,
but still, as a mom, I knew she must have been scared 
must have felt our pain,
and so I channeled her strength 
and drew from it.

I remembered how I had been so scared
when, at 8, I was admitted to CHOP
to have my hand reconstructed.
My mom was a rock 
and knew my stuffed mouse
and a pay phone call to my family back home
were what I needed to be brave.
What she didn't tell me for years
was that the surgeon had told her
I'd either gain the use of my fingers
or lose them,
and yet my mom chose hope for me,
bravely carrying the implications
of that life changing decision on her own.
I breathed and stood taller.

My baby bear is home and recovering,
and friends and family are showering us with love.
She's come through this in her typical fashion,
taking it in stride and good naturedly.
And her Mama Bear is doing okay, too!


Where it started (10 days in) and where it is now (post surgery)!

Photos:  New London, CT and New Haven, CT.  9.21.24 and 11.15.24 by LA