Tomorrow, the best-of-the-best surgical minds will come together to try and create a functioning shunt system for my little Noodle.
A month or so ago, we had a lot of reasons to believe we'd never make it to this point. We were "prepared" for the fact that it might prove to be impossible, that she would not survive. We have tried to live day-to-day and not focus on the end of the journey, whatever 'the end' might be.
Now, here we are - at this pivotal moment. It feels like there is so much riding on this one surgery; probably because there is. There is no room for error. She cannot withstand more malfunctions, additional surgeries, more infections, more insult to her brain. I have no control over this situation and I hate it! Tomorrow, the OR team will see a side of me that they don't usually see. I usually hold it together when I leave her (at least until I'm alone). We have our routine of singing songs until she's asleep. I am strong and optimistic. Hell, after 46 surgeries, 46 goodbye kisses, 46 times walking out, 46 times looking back and saying "take care of my girl;" I have to be, right? Tomorrow - I will cry like a baby. I will have a very hard time walking out, leaving her behind.