When we adopted our daughter, we knew that she'd have to have some surgery when she came home. It was easy enough, THEN, to say, "Oh, she'll have to have surgery", almost like saying that she'll have to trim her nails or get a haircut. Now that it's happened, I see just how rough it is for all concerned. I'm not squeamish, but seeing my daughter come out of the OR, dopey, frightened and looking like she'd been in a major traffic accident, was not at all easy. I can only imagine how she felt.
No. On second thought, I can't imagine that.
Happily, Caroline is in a good hospital with excellent nurses and a first-rate surgeon. More importantly, she's almost constantly surrounded by family and friends (the pastor of my wife's home church came all the way from her hometown for the surgery, and I was VERY glad of it). Most importantly, she has Mama and Laolao. She's damned lucky that I'm not in charge of her recovery, as I take a very utilitarian, rough-and-ready approach to this sort of thing, which is not at all what a little girl needs.
She needs the affection and gentleness that only a mother and grandmother can provide, and she's getting plenty of it.