So...tomorrow is a big day. I've been avoiding the thought, pretending it's no big deal. But as I watched my tall, strapping, handsome sons wrestling around and bouncing and laughing out on their trampoline...it hit me. My son, my first born twin, my darling child with all the fucked up health issues, will be under the knife again tomorrow. Almost exactly 12 years from the day they came home from the hospital. Almost exactly 12 years from the day the first neurosurgeon placed the VP shunt that they are finally replacing tomorrow. And I know it's a routine procedure. But it's still brain surgery. And there is still that chance...however small...that the boy I know will be changed forever. Just writing that makes me feel better, because my gut says he will be just as funny and cantankerous and wonderful as he is today. But. I cried over the sink full of dishes anyway.
And here is the essay I wrote 7 years ago, about the whole thing.