Expectations

#5's surgeon was a pretty, young Indian woman.  When I first saw her in a pre-Op appointment the Friday before surgery, I was struck by her prettiness and it made me suspicious.  She answered questions I had from trying to stitch together the recommendations of several different doctors over the last year and a half in a way that made me feel like we were talking past each other.  As she rushed off to perform a surgery, I was left uncertain that she and I saw the purpose of #5's surgery the same way.  I had the conscious thought that I wished she had been a grumpy old man, instead of a smooth-skinned, blue-eye-shadow-wearing, smiling woman.  I needed seriousness.

I had the husband come with me on Monday morning to make sure all my concerns got figured out before #5 got put to sleep.  The NP put my worries to rest quickly by looking over the results of #5's echocardiogram from the Friday before.   The surgeon stopped by to see us in the waiting room after the husband and I had already allowed #5 to be wheeled back to the OR.  She looked bubbly and open but I didn't let that distract me.  I had the echocardiogram in my back pocket.

Later, when the surgeon came and talked to us when she was done with her part on #5 she told us that everything had gone well.  And then she looked at me, opened her arms, gave me a hug, and laughing said, "You were worried."

And I laughed.  Because if there is something I do in life, it is laugh.  But also because I saw that she never was worried.  Because for her this had been a simple surgery.  Because I had been too serious.  And in that moment I was glad she wasn't a grumpy, old man.