Oh How I LOVE...

.. my sweet, spunky girl.

This week Gianna had an MRI, a CT scan, and more xrays. 

To say that she is a trooper is an understatement. She was poked, prodded, monitored, and put to sleep. The ONLY time she cried was when they couldn't get a vein for her IV, and had to stick her twice. 

I fought back tears the entire time, trying to remind myself that THESE ARE JUST TESTS, the worst is yet to come. I have to be cheerful, I have to be brave-for her. I have to somehow make the whole ordeal fun, so she won't hate this as much as I do. All while fighting my own tears. And dreading her future surgeries. And knowing it will get so much worse than I can imagine...

...THESE ARE JUST TESTS.

But  holding your baby tightly, while she is writhing in pain, and the nurse is rooting around in her arm for a tiny little elusive vein,  all the while YELLING at me, " HOLD HER MOM! DON'T LET HER MOVE!" Is almost enough to make me run with her for the door.

 And yet,when it was over, she smiled, waved, chatted with the nurses, showed them her beautiful bracelets(ie hospital bands) and insisted to everyone that they were purple, even though they were yellow. 

She gave high fives to the techs who had just tortured her, and yelled, "CHEESE" while I was holding her head  firmly against the xray machine.

They let me hold her in my arms while they administered the anesthesia. She heard me singing our favorite "I Love You" song as she went limp in my arms. I kissed her sweet chubby cheek and gently laid her on the table. She was immediately surround by the doctors and nurses, administering oxygen and re-positioning her because her oxygen level dropped. I stood in the background, watching them stabilize her and cried. The nurse saw me wipe away a tear, and let me kiss her one more time, before escorting me out.

THESE ARE JUST TESTS.

 When she woke up, she smiled at me sweetly, and said "Hi Mommy."  As if nothing had ever happened. Wobbly from the anesthesia, she reached for me, and I held her tightly, while she sipped apple juice and warbled incoherent words. And I fought back tears of relief. We're done for today. She's awake. She's okay.

THESE ARE JUST TESTS.

She watched interestedly as they ripped tape off her little arm, that she dutifully held outstretched, and then didn't flinch when they removed her IV. She even remembered to say thank you when the nurse was done. And oooed and ahhed over her purple dinosaur bandaid, like it was a special treasure.

As soon as we got home from the hospital, my cell phone rang.

 It was Shriners. They want the results overnighted and plan a surgical evaluation for the end of July.  Only a few weeks from now...

            ...This is really happening. Our baby is about to have a MAJOR, LIFE- ALTERING surgery, that without it, she will eventually die. Then  she will have another surgery 4 to 6 months later, and again six months after that.... for the next 15 years of her life- Her whole childhood.

With the risk of infections, pneumonia and complications EVERY. SINGLE. TIME. And the very best care for her 859 miles away. Way too far away in an emergency, but the very best treatment available, so our only option.

And I can hardly grasp the concept of what she will endure.  I look at her and she is so perfect, why oh why isn't her tiny body?

 I know Someone who loves her more than I. He will carry us through. I believe that with all my heart. I cling to that. I need to be brave, but I don't have it in me. I trust His grace will be made perfect in my weakness.

And I choose to rejoice in the victory  for today:

WE MADE IT THROUGH THE TESTS.