When is a gift not a gift?
And then, just as suddenly, it leapt onto us. We got a call from my dad today to say he’s managed to get an appointment for O’s MRI even sooner than expected. That’s brilliant! How soon? Tuesday. Four days time.
Slap me across the face for being weird but suddenly I’m crapping myself.
The end of November – the previous date for the MRI - felt too far away, but there’s something safe about distance. Little O will have to go under yet another general anaesthetic – her third this month. The good thing about the MRI is it will tell us if she has a severe spinal problem. The bad thing is. . . the same.
In South Africa, I know a lot of people who suspect they are carrying HIV but refuse to get tested. They reason that if they’re going to die anyway, why live the rest of their days knowing? This logic has always struck me as preposterous, absurd and selfish. Denial is weak, I thought. But there’s a part of me that suddenly understands the desire to not know, to be able to pretend.
I want so badly for the MRI to tell us that, although the anomaly the surgeon spotted when he operated exists, it is benign, innocuous, even character giving. I want to think of it like the bump on my nose, or the way R’s toes seem to stick together in a little furry clump. A funny little physical trait that distinguishes you from the person next to you, but that doesn't mean you have to be sliced up and put back together.
I don’t want him to tell me she has to have spinal surgery.
I don’t want him to tell me she has to come back in another few months for another MRI.
But I have a horrible feeling he might.
Slap me across the face for being weird but suddenly I’m crapping myself.
The end of November – the previous date for the MRI - felt too far away, but there’s something safe about distance. Little O will have to go under yet another general anaesthetic – her third this month. The good thing about the MRI is it will tell us if she has a severe spinal problem. The bad thing is. . . the same.
In South Africa, I know a lot of people who suspect they are carrying HIV but refuse to get tested. They reason that if they’re going to die anyway, why live the rest of their days knowing? This logic has always struck me as preposterous, absurd and selfish. Denial is weak, I thought. But there’s a part of me that suddenly understands the desire to not know, to be able to pretend.
I want so badly for the MRI to tell us that, although the anomaly the surgeon spotted when he operated exists, it is benign, innocuous, even character giving. I want to think of it like the bump on my nose, or the way R’s toes seem to stick together in a little furry clump. A funny little physical trait that distinguishes you from the person next to you, but that doesn't mean you have to be sliced up and put back together.
I don’t want him to tell me she has to have spinal surgery.
I don’t want him to tell me she has to come back in another few months for another MRI.
But I have a horrible feeling he might.
posted by Yidchick at 7:15 pm
5 Comments:
i'm still catching up on the back story on little o...whatever her medical issues she's lucky to have you as her mummy. tell her when she's older and screeching at you that you don't understand her....
will be thinking of baby O tonight while lighting Shabbos candles on Shabbos Shuva in Yerushalayim....
I'm catching up on all the entries, too. But I agree with surly girl - she's lucky to have you.
I wish you anything and everything you need to get you through the waiting - and hope that the news is very very good.
It's great to have that appointment YC. And I too hope it's something innocuous.
Dear little baby O, it's so unfair.
Thinking of you & sweet O. Hoping for good, easy to deal with results. xx
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