the journey begins

Last night was really hard.

It was essentially the second-most dreaded moment I had in my mind--the time when I would have to say, "Goodbye," to Thaddeus and Charlotte.

Everyone tells parents that they need to be strong for their babies. Don't show them your concern or your fear, because it might make them even more concerned or scared. Don't let them see you cry. Don't allow their little minds to wander to such a place that they end up nervous, anxious, sad, or worried.

But I couldn't help it.

We have been on a verbal countdown in my house for months--they knew when surgery was 62 days away. They knew when it was 45 days away. Then 27. Then 18. Then 10. Then it was next Wednesday. Then it was two days.

And now it's tomorrow.

So when I bent down to give them hugs, and to tell them I would see them very soon, the tears just freely began to flow.

All of my fears for this surgery were wrapped into this one tiny moment, and I just wanted to squeeze them, and tell them how much I truly, truly love them. And how much I planned to fight hard.

For them.

And I do.

Someone told me to go into this surgery strong, and after that moment with them, I sat and cried with my mom for a bit--but then I committed myself to this thing. To roll with the punches. To accept the journey, in anticipation of the outcome.

And to go in strong.

This morning I checked in to the hospital at 5:30am. Today was not the day, but it was an important one, nonetheless. Today was an opportunity for my surgeon to bring me into the OR, and to take the scope down my airway and not only get a reminder of what he would be up against the following day, but also to assess whether or not I was still a candidate for surgery.

If my airway looked angry, we would have to postpone.

If my airway looked like it was being eaten up with active inflammation, we would have to postpone.

I knew that if I woke up breathing better, that he would have dilated my airway and it would be bad news--I'd have to come back another day. But if I woke up feeling the same, the news would be good--I would be returning Wednesday morning for my reconstruction...

One of the cardiac thoracic fellows wheeled me into the OR. He made me feel good from the start--we joked the entire way down the hall about how I looked in my blue hair net, and how the left side of the bed would not come up and his driving was crazy enough that I might roll out.

When he opened the doors to the OR, my doctor was blaring Aerosmith over the loud speaker.

He asked me if I had any requests.

I told him classical jazz. Lol.

We laughed, as I told him I was kidding. Then he asked me if the music was bothersome and I told him I'd be asleep and could really care less--I gave him permission to listen to whatever made him the best at what he does. ;)

And that was it.

The next thing I knew, I was waking up in recovery, and could hear my nurse on the phone delivering orders for my return tomorrow.

I was coming back.

I am going back!

It was the best news that I could have heard. Postponing surgery would have been a total blow. I could just imagine the wind in my sails being depleted almost instantly.

I never thought I'd pray so hard to have a surgeon cut open my neck, remove two sections of my airway, sew me back together, and send me back into the hospital for at least a week of recovery with my chin stitched to my chest--but I did.

I want this to happen.

I need this to happen.

Now the prayer, as I head back tomorrow, is of course for the surgeon's hands. For my safety during the procedure. All the basic stuff.

But my next hurdle to jump is the possibility of a tracheostomy.

My stenosis in the top area of my wind pipe is very high--right near my vocal chords. Any amount of swelling, or any damage to my vocal chords, and there is a very real possibility that I could end up with a tracheostomy--temporary or permanent, it could vary.

This is my ultimate fear. Having lived with a tracheostomy for 12 weeks back in 2007, I know first-hand how much I never want to re-live that time again.

Thankfully, my surgeon is--in his own words--pretty "anti-trach." And today, after surgery, he even expressed his own frustration at the doctor who made the decision 11 years ago to give me a precautionary tracheostomy through my pregnancy with Thaddeus--after all, that decision is what has landed me here, with collapsed tracheal cartilage and the urgent need for a total reconstruction.

So.

I am ready to get through this.

I am ready to go in strong.

I am ready for them to fix the diseased part of my upper airway.

I am ready for them to fix the collapsed part of my lower airway.

I am ready for all of this to be behind me.

I have been struggling to breathe for 13 years.

At times my airway has been the size of a coffee straw. At times my airway has been only halfway open. At times my airway has been 75% closed.

I am ready to always be at 100%.

To always be at 100%.

I don't want to spend my life scanning the room for an elevator, when stairs are a possibility.

I want to stop turning people down when they ask me if I want to go for a walk. Or a hike. Or to help them carry something heavy.

God-willing, today was the last day I ever have to breathe like this.

I've got an amazing surgeon.

I've got an amazing tribe of people, on their knees in prayer. They are supporting us in every way possible--picking up our kids from school, keeping them overnight, pet-sitting our puppy, delivering meals for Tom, and just generally helping to put our minds at ease.

Thank you.

From the bottom of my heart, thank you.

My surgery starts in approximately 15 hours.

And I am ready to go in strong.