I did it.  I was dreading it.  My husband couldn’t come because he had a meeting at the same time, so I was forced to take our son alone.  My stomach was in knots this morning, and I was so anxious.  But I did it.  I walked into a hospital by myself for the first time since that horrible December day.

It’s been a crazy couple of weeks.  My youngest son had surgery on both of his lower eyelids.  While we had originally been told that he would be a candidate for the less invasive surgery on his left eye (which was the only one we were originally planning on doing even though both were a problem), the doctor threw us a curve ball two days before surgery saying our son needed the much more invasive surgery.  It involved general anesthesia and taking him to the children’s hospital, rather than doing it in the doctor’s office.  Then, the morning of surgery, he threw us another curveball just before taking our son back: “Do you want to do both eyes?”   My knees buckled.

The morning of surgery fell smack in the middle of the Plague 2.0 that hit our family, knocking three of us down hard for a month.  It came on like the flu, suddenly, and kept us down for four weeks with horrible muscle aches, fatigue, fevers, and misery.  Just as I was rising, we had my little guy’s surgery.  Within a week, because of the intensity of the symptoms, two of us (including me) ended up with bronchitis.

I’ve been praying for healing for weeks; I guess He decided I needed some extra time down.  Trying to manage a two-year old after major facial surgery while battling bronchitis was crazy.  I’m grateful for the help we had.  Grandparents flew in to watch the other children while I focused those first few days on my little dude.  In the process, some incredible memories were made with my children and their grandparents, which was such salve to my still deeply grieving heart. We received much-needed help with meals.  I let myself be helped, something I find deeply difficult.  For two weeks, we have kept our son home, letting him heal and protecting his face constantly. And trying to get well again.

So, today was a victory on several fronts.  I felt well enough to go solo to my son’s appointment, which was a huge blessing.  But so was walking into a hospital alone for the first time.  I was unable to keep it together when I took my little guy to his appointment to request a referral not even a month after my dad passed, nor at the consult appointment a week later.  I fell apart during the surgery, because I was so overwhelmed waiting in a hospital room again.  Fear, triggers, and grief washed over me every time.  But today, he and I walked in, we waited, got blessedly good news, and walked out smiling.  No tears shed, no consuming anxiety.  Just a much-needed good appointment with only positive news about his recovery.  

I did it.

Sometimes, the hard things are not “big” things.  Sometimes the hard things seem small or meaningless at face value.  Sometimes, it’s the getting out of bed each morning, the taking of each next breath.  Sometimes it’s surviving the day or just doing the bare minimum.  And if you’ve done that today, well done!  If not, well done!  You tried.  Just the trying can be hard in tough seasons.

Today, the hard thing was walking into those doors by myself.  And it was really hard!  But, as I got into my car to drive home, I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror.

And I thought, Well done!