matching bracelets

   When a baby is born mother and child are given matching bracelets. These bracelets become the temporary new umbilical cord that binds the two. When mom returns home with baby the bracelets come off. The cutting off of the bracelets symbolizes a seperation; an understanding that as of today baby will be seen as a whole person preparing and learning to live life without being bound or dependent on anyone. It is mom's job to always remind baby that she is an individual. As a parent I have always looked forward to seeing my children get into a car or find a job. I want to see them develope their individuality and basically get out in the world. I want them to like me but not be bound to me. Independence and free thought are two rare and precious gifts and I hope I have given them these things.
    Today, however; I am sitting in a hospital waiting room once again wearing a bracelet that ties me to my baby. She is in surgery, and once again, I find myself waiting for the emergence of her tiny life back into mine.
    Five weeks ago she came home complaining of pain in her side. For five weeks we have ruled out nearly every organ she has as the cause of her pain. She has had two tests on her gallbladder, two tests on her liver, a CT Scan, and a nuclear medicine test called a gastronimical emptying test that required her to eat radioactive eggs. She has been to Urgent Care, the ER, the imaging center and back again to the hospital for day surgery twice. She has been hysterical, worried, sleepless, tired, anxious and stressed.
   (It is 10:00 a.m. and the nurse just texted that the patient is doing well....all while the Supreme Court is in the background ruling on ObamaCare).
    The gallbladder is a tricky business. It causes pain and causes weight lose. It is literally the thorn in the side. My daughter is strong ad private and watching her struggle with vunerability  has been difficult. She would love to be able to beat this thing alone. She would love to stop being jabbed with needles, touched, moved, labeled...and sadly, nobody can do this but her.
   As I sit here waiting, bound to her once again through a bracelet, I am reminded of her favorite movie, Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory.  I view the hospital the same way that the kids view the factory. It is full of buttons and gases and tubes and all sorts of machines that take one thing and turn it into another. It is a place that changes you. It is energizing and exciting and just a little quizzical with a side of anxiety thrown in. Hospitals show us our insides and peel off our outsides and take us apart and fuse us back together. They are magical. They take our children and wheel them away while we wonder what will happen to them.
   Her surgeon is probably 70 years old but he is completely versed in all the gadgets and machines and he lives on the edge of the new world. He obviously enjoys learning and creating and seeing...He obviously loves change. Medicine changes constantly, and so does he.  In the end though the magic of medicine can only occur between doctor and patient. Just like at the end  of the movie, the moment of magic  could only occur between Charlie and Mr. Wonka. Grandpa couldn't think "for" Charlie regardless of how connected they were.
   As I sit here wearing this bracelet, I know that the outcome of this procedure will effect me, just as these five weeks have effected our whole family, but I know that she has to find her independence. She has to find her own voice and deal with her own Wonkas. She has to do what is best for her and her her health and her lifestyle; and I think that's fine as long as she knows that I will always show up to wear her matching bracelet.