My heart stumbled in my chest and for a moment my hands felt numb. “She is only thirteen years old,” I said uselessly because illness never cared about birthdays.
“I understand,” the doctor replied gently. “But surgery right now will likely solve the problem safely.”
They handed me forms and consent papers while Kayla lay curled on the hospital bed gripping the blanket. She looked at me with glassy eyes and whispered, “Mom please stay with me because I am really scared.”
“I am right here and I will not leave you,” I promised while kissing her damp forehead.
They wheeled her through double doors toward the operating room and she called my name once before the doors closed behind her. The surgery was supposed to last one hour but it stretched painfully into three long hours while I sat in the waiting room listening to ordinary conversations that sounded unreal beside my fear.
When the surgeon finally returned he spoke carefully. “The appendix had already started to rupture but we cleaned the infection and she is stable now, although she will need antibiotics and observation.”
Relief flooded through me first and then exhaustion followed immediately behind it.
While sitting there with shaking hands I decided to call my parents because Kayla loved them deeply and believed they were a steady part of her life.
My mother Susan answered on the third ring and sounded mildly distracted. “Hello what is going on tonight,” she asked.
“Mom Kayla is in the hospital because she needed emergency surgery for appendicitis,” I explained quickly.
There was a long pause before she spoke again. “Is she alive right now or are you calling about something worse,” she asked with surprising bluntness.
“Yes she is alive but it was very close and the doctor said the infection was spreading,” I replied.
“Then it sounds like everything worked out and you are worrying too much again,” Susan answered dismissively.
I stared at the phone in disbelief. “Mom she just had emergency surgery and she is terrified right now,” I insisted.
My father Frank joined the call through their house extension phone and spoke sharply. “Diane you always exaggerate every problem and we are not driving two hours for something minor.”
“It was not minor because the doctor said it could have become life threatening,” I replied.
“Call us when something serious happens,” he said before hanging up abruptly.