what if he dies.

Last week, Max had a cardiologist appointment. It was just a check up and everything looked fine(ish) but it was a tough one. Our Cardiologist rocks. She has become a new friend, a familiar face to Max, and a cozy comfort to me so when we wrapped up and she didn't offer the typical "see you next week!" I lost it. Not in front of her...but in the car

because that means we won't see her until after Max's surgery

and that means that his surgery is close. SO close...

and that makes this all very real.

and maybe...I'm just not equipt to handle this afterall.

How the FUCK do you pack your sweet little baby into the car and drive him into the hospital on purpose? How do you hand him over to the person who is responsible for making his heart work?

I want to check out. I want to run away and come back when everything is all better..when he's "fixed." I want to not have to do this...

but I am Mom. Not only do I have to go through the motions but I have to smile at Max (this comes easily, actually) and be calm and comforting so that this fear that is consuming me is never felt by the innocent little human that has no idea what is going on.

When he cries because his diaper is a tiny bit wet, or because he isn't being held, or because I am changing his diaper, a piece of me is heartbroken because I want those to be his biggest discomforts, but I know that they won't be.

What if he gets sick and the surgery gets postponed?
What if they can't get the repair they want and we have to do this all over again? (which is a real possibility.)
What am I going to do when he is laying there in pain and recovering, looking at me with those big sweet eyes, wondering why I let them hurt him and why I wont pick him up?
What if he dies?

I can't say it out loud...and it almost hurts as much to type it. It's a real fear though, and every time I feel it, it gets topped off with guilt too because I should be busy enjoying my baby, not worrying that I only have two weeks left with him.

Up until now, I have had on my business face. I sit through appointments and listen to specialists tell me what is wrong with my son and together we draft up a plan about how we are going to fix it. I chart medications like it's my job. It is my job.

This is not a "leave it at the office" job, though and emotions are flowing pretty heavily now.

It is sinking in and it sucks and I hate it and I am really just ready to let it all out so I can move on.

So, this is my rant. This is it and then I will find my strength again and stopping complaining. I'll be damned if I let this kid see me cry or if fear is ever written on my face where he can see it. I will kiss him and smile when they walk down that hall, so that he thinks it is all ok. When I tell him that he is going to do awesome, I am going to believe it.

Today I cried while he napped. I wrote this and a list of things to pack for the hospital. I folded some 12 month outfits and wondered if he will ever get to wear them.

Tomorrow I am going to sew some baby hospital gowns so that he is the most stylin' baby there. I am going to get the house ready for when he comes home, and I am going to tell him how strong he is and how loved he is and how adorable his sweet little smile is.

I am going to put all of my strength into him and all of my energy into rooting for him, because I can't wait to see the kid he is when his heart "works" and feed him solids, and watch him crawl and tell him someday what that scar in the middle of his chest is from.

When I do, I hope he glances at it for a second, feels proud of himself for a bit longer, and then bounces off to play while he forgets all about it.