She’s doing all right. Miserable, but alright. I haven’t seen her yet. When mum and dad got her up at 5, I couldn’t go back to sleep for ages. The bed was too cold, both poetically and literally.
Mum and dad didn’t get back from the hospital until 9:30ish, because Dr. Dorafshar was delayed by an emergency liver transplant, and so her 7:30 surgery was bumped back for two hrs. There was a terrible moment when a Fellow came out, and told mum that the surgery was canceled, because Dr.D was too tired to do it. Mum says her heart sank, and her head spun. Every hour had come to this, and all the months of planning were wasted. But in two minutes, a nurse came rushing in, and hoped that Katya hadn’t had anything to eat or drink, because the surgery was back on– Dr. Dorafshar had cancled an adult patient instead.
All day we’ve been waiting for news, and praying. And now that we have good news, I don’t know what to do with myself anymore than before. Possibly less. I want to have a good cry, but my body won’t quite cooperate. I want to sing, or jump, or shout, and I have a headache. I didn’t before. I know how to fight through stress, but I hardly know what to do with relief, especially when I don’t have my mum around to hug (mum and dad are with Katya)
And Katya is okay! Well, in a lot of pain, and with bruises all over her poor little arm from where they tried and failed to start a central line, but she’s not dead, and I can’t see her yet.
“Thank you, God” just isn’t adequate.