The risks and pretending they weren't there

Like I said before, I'm a numbers person.  The numbers for epilepsy are not good.

But, the numbers for a left temporal lobectomy are very good.  A serious problem during surgery is extremely rare.  Only one child in a thousand will die during surgery.  The other 999 will survive.  Which is much better than their odds, if facing a lifetime of blackouts.

That's why we were so very thrilled, when we realized she would be able to have the surgery.

But, then, reality set in.  My daughter was going to have brain surgery.  In a month.

My precious, wanted, loved, sweet little girl.  The brave little girl, who faced needle after needle this year, even though pain terrified her.  The one who lay still in cave after cave, while machines whirred around her head.

The surgery meant that a portion of her skull, above her left ear, about the size of twinkie, would be lifted off of her brain.  Her brain would then be lifted, and the surgeon would remove about a third of her temporal lobe.  This was the part that was non-functioning.  The part that disrupted the electrical circuits in her brain.

The part that was sucking her life away.

Her surgeon, Dr. Curry, is wonderful.  One of the best in the world.  Maybe THE best.  The surgeons have computers and tools to help them be very specific.  They are able to sew everything back.  And, surgery had an excellent chance of working.  About 75-80 percent of epileptics with this type, are either completely cured or controlled.  It would probably give her life back.

So, why was I waking up in the middle of the night, over and over, with a headache?  Why was I shaking all day?  Why was I taking Aleve and caffeine all day long to feel normal?  Why was my forehead constantly lined between my eyes?

Because I knew the risks.  She had a good chance of losing a small part of her vision.  It was the best one to lose, they said.  In the upper right quadrant.  She could still be 20/20.  She could still drive.

She could lose part of her verbal memory.  That part that we all have trouble with.  Where a word is on the tip of her tongue, but she can't remember it.

Then, there were the surgical risks.  Stroke, infection (meningitis), etc.

"STROKE??!!!"  She was sitting in the surgeon's office when we heard that one.  "Very rare," he said.

In the car, I told her "Life IS risk, honey.  Every day, something could happen.  We don't make our decisions out of fear, or worry.  God will take care of you.  And, if the surgery works, you'll be seizure free."

She smiled.  "Oh mommy, it WILL work."

Oh, the beautiful faith of children.

So, I spent the next month teaching them, reading to them, driving them, snuggling them, smelling them, smiling at them, and soaking up their sweetness.  Pretending everything was fine.  While waking up with nightmares.

But, I learned something, in those dark, sleepless hours.  I learned to really pray.  I prayed for her to keep that precious faith. To be completely healed from her condition.  And for me to have the strength to face the next day with a smile.  With love.  To teach my children that true strength lies in facing our troubles,  climbing our mountains with courage and trust, and leaving the rest to God.

"For God hath not given us the spirit of fear, but of power, and of love, and of a sound mind." II Timothy 1:7