THE VIRGINIAN-PILOT
Copyright (c) 1995, Landmark Communications, Inc.
DATE: Sunday, October 15, 1995 TAG: 9510150048
SECTION: LOCAL PAGE: B1 EDITION: FINAL
SOURCE: ELIZABETH SIMPSON
LENGTH: Medium: 65 lines
There are some things you can get your child enthused about only once.
Surgery is one of them.
As my 4-year-old lay on a gurney in the recovery room, IV tube in her arm, eyes dilated, lips swollen, reality hit home for both of us.
She responded by crying. I reacted by sitting down and putting my head between my knees to keep from fainting.
We suffered the reality blues together.
When Taylor first heard she was going to have her tonsils yanked, she couldn't have been more excited.
Not a surprising reaction for a girl who hadn't had any traumatic experiences with doctors or with hospitals or even with pain other than a few sore throats and upset stomachs.
During the week before her surgery, I found myself on that precarious tightrope of telling her about the pain of an operation but still not scaring her too much. Of fanning the excitement of a new experience while warning her that she was going to be mighty sore at the end of it all.
But even though I kept up a constant mantra of ``sore throat, sore throat, sore throat,'' all that was getting through was: Popsicles for breakfast. Ice cream for dinner. Sugary drinks galore around the clock.
Talk as I might about going to a big operating room with scary-looking equipment, all she could concentrate on was riding the little bike down the hallway and breathing in ``sleepy air'' that smelled like bubble gum.
Yes, the girl was being set up.
I remember being similarly fooled as a kid when I was getting ready to go to first grade. My parents told me it would be a little harder than kindergarten, a little more work. But all I heard was games and recess and crayons and water fountains and scissors all day long.
And when I got there I discovered, ``Hey, this is work! They're making me think here.''
Now my daughter was going through the same thing. These minor deceptions - the highlighting of the good parts of life, the downplaying of the hard parts - are a matter of survival. We frame scary experiences this way to survive.
Still, I couldn't help feeling a little guilty, knowing my daughter was in for a major reality check.
The day of the surgery her face shone with delight as her personalized ``bracelet'' was wrapped around her wrist.
``Remember your throat's going to be really sore . . .'' I said for the millionth time as she practically skipped down the hallway to put on her Garfield pajamas.
My words were like meaningless background music to her.
Worse, my own fears were being eased by Taylor's enthusiasm. Maybe this wouldn't be so bad after all. Maybe she'd be so taken with the ice cream dinner that she'd forget about the pain. Maybe she wouldn't cry.
Maybe not.
That last look of excitement was in sharp contrast to how she looked when she came out of surgery: red-faced, lips swollen, coughing, crying, wheezing. Bewildered.
The sight was enough to send me reeling to the nearest chair.
Now Taylor knows what pain means, why most people don't like going to the hospital, why all the ice cream in the world can't make the pain go away.
And I know better than to get carried away with a little girl's enthusiasm. by CNB