The first surgery room is so cold. The nurses and other doctors keep Tia talking and distracted whilst the anaesthetist puts the needle in her arm. They are asking her questions about school and hobbies. Tia laughs and jokes with them until the drugs kick in and all the sudden, she is out cold. I’m still holding her hand, whilst I feel it go limp.
One of the nurses says “Okay, we will need you to head to the waiting room, we will take her to the main surgery room now… mum?’ I’m distracted seeing Tia just lying there motionlessness. I’m almost in shock at how quick the anaesthesia knocked her out. “Mum?” the nurse repeats. “Oh no, I’m her sister” I say. “Ah sorry… erm and don’t worry everyone looks like that under general anaesthetic, she is in safe hands.” she says.
She squeezes my shoulder in support. I reluctantly place Tia’s hands on her side, and I watch them wheel her out. The nurse accompanies me back to waiting room.
I pace up and down the waiting room. Mum has left the hospital. I couldn’t be with her as she was in hysterics and kept saying the surgery was a mistake that could kill Tia. She said that Tia should have prayed and trusted in healing. She ended up, crying, screaming and even singing. I can’t keep up with her, but I don’t want to. I just need to focus my energy, my positive energy, towards Tia.
I sit down, but I just can’t keep still. I jump up again. Pacing. It feels like my heart is beating a hundred miles an hour. Oh gosh. Now I’m thinking about my heart. Ah and now I’m thinking about Tia’s heart. My chest is tight. I feel like I can faint. “Please, please, God please.” I keep saying to myself.
Now the devastating “what ifs” start to attack my mind like a storm. “What if she doesn’t make it?” “What if she doesn’t pull through?” “Please, please!” I cry. “Let her pull through.” My mind can’t help but consider the worst. I’m thinking back to the matter-of-fact way the doctor explained the risks to us, including the potential of death… Tears fill my eyes again.
Okay! I have to snap myself out of it. My phone is full of texts and missed calls but I can’t read them through the tears. Nelly texts me and says she will keep Tia in her prayers. She asks where and how my mum is, I say I haven’t seen her since before Tia went in.
My brothers are texting asking how Tia is, if she is out of surgery yet. I have no update. It has only been an hour since she finally went in. Doctors say it could take roughly five hours.
I look around the waiting room. I see the other anxious faces waiting on hopeful news on their loved ones. We are all trapped in the torturous limbo.
I’m talking to myself again. “Tia will pull through surely and when she does, she will need you to be strong for her, especially in recovery.” “Can you do that Dee?!” “We don’t have any news yet. Stop overthinking, have faith.” I try to pump myself up.
The week prior to surgery mum kept alternating between a) yelling that we had supported and convinced Tia to make the wrong decision that could potentially kill her and b) that she is okay with Tia’s decision and whatever happens (alluding to the potential of death) as a result of surgery is God’s plan.
I have to stay away from her as I don’t want to hear of any plan that doesn’t involve Tia being okay. “Go outside for some air” I tell myself. “You will be fine.” “She will be fine!” “This is Tia your sister, she is strong, she will pull through.” “She made the right choice…The brave choice!”
A counter thought interrupts mind, “But what if she could’ve survived without the heart surgery and now her life is unnecessarily at risk?”
“STOP” I shout back at the intervening thought.’ “Don’t think like that Dee” “This was the right choice. You respected the choice and she and we all accepted the risks.”
I run up the side of the hospital and back. Breathing heavily. I walk to the cafe to buy food, but when I get to the counter, I forget the words to say. The waiter stares at me in confusion. I mumble ,”never mind” and leave the shop. I keep walking. Still pleading under my breath “please, please, please”. It’s all I can think of saying. I must have walked for an hour by the time I returned to the hospital.
I’m back in the waiting room. Pacing. Standing, sitting, standing again. Same routine. The battle of hope versus “what ifs” raging in my mind.
I’m snapped out of it by a doctor’s voice.
“Mrs Ale” I hear her call out. I jump up hearing my mum’s name. ” Hi!” I rush towards her. ” Are you Mrs Ale?” she asks me. “No. I’m her daughter. But you’re coming to tell us about Tia, correct?” She pauses in apprehension. “When will your mum be back?” ” I don’t know, she didn’t say, can you tell me about Tia please?!”
“Okay… Well, I can tell you that…”
It’s like time slows down. I can hear my heart beating louder and louder and louder. I’m holding my breath. She is saying words like “complications, blood loss” and I’m just waiting for her to tell me the final result on Tia’s surgery.
“…and despite this I can say it was a success and she is now being monitored in ICU” …”Aw it’s okay, I’m sure you’re all relieved.” I notice she is holding back tears whilst reaching her arm down towards me. It takes me a moment to also realise I’ve dropped to the floor in tears of joy, and she is helping me up.
J writes 