The relief in waiting

This isn't really Chewbacchus but it IS New Orleans!

It has been two weeks since Gabe had his CT scan and we met with the neurosurgeon. In that two weeks, we have heard nothing from the hospital, our surgical team, the nurses or anyone else. Nothing. It has been, in a way, sweet relief.

Saturday night we went out to our two favorite Mardi Gras parades: ‘tit Rex and Chewbacchus. A few friends asked how we were doing. I was drinking a glass of wine and having a wonderful time. The question kind of stopped me. “Great. We don’t have a surgery date yet, so I’m kind of blissfully in denial!” I responded.

It’s true though. Without that date, there’s no countdown. Without a countdown, surgery on my baby seems like some abstract concept, of which I want no part. And right now, I don’t have to have a part of it because it doesn’t exist.

Of course, that’s only a half-truth. The real truth is that the idea that it’s going to happen is like the that buzzing sound you hear when a generator is running. It’s there. It’s always there. My head is constantly full of noise and there’s this omnipresent hum that not everything is okay. But, in most moments, I can be present and feel that, yeah, it is okay. Right now.

It is somewhat agonizing though. In true Peaski fashion, we can’t let something like a little ol’ cranial surgery stop our free-wheelin’ life. I had to pause travel/adventures for long enough to birth the baby and recover physically (and mentally). I’ve been back to the drawing board as I’ve caught up on sleep. So, how can I plan our hotel room in Guadalajara in July if I can’t be 100% certain we’ll be okay to travel then? How can I book Gabe’s and my solo camping trip on the first weekend  the low doesn’t dip under 55? I can’t. I can’t plan anything. The buzz continues.

I realized that my hesitation in emailing the nurse came from the happy place of denial. Without a date, there is no surgery. In that strange, subconscious place, I can believe that surgery does not and will not exist. Then reality snaps back in and I realize that surgery will occur. It is necessary. Perhaps emailing the nurse to figure out what month I’ll need to set aside is a good thing.

And I did. I like my happy denial place. Either fortunately or unfortunately though, I’m incredibly aware. So, I sent a prodding email and now I sit and wait for that, knowing my alternate reality will likely fade soon. But, I’m still in a place of a little bit of relief.

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