It's Tuesday, late in the morning. As I write this, my daughter is at the children's hospital having small tubes fished through her arteries and led to her brain. It's called a Wada test, so named after the physician who invented it, and will determine the location of Hannah's speech and memory. This, in turn, will tell us whether she is a candidate for surgery.
Hannah had to leave this morning to the hospital very early. It was still dark as she clutched her stuffed animal and climbed into the minivan with her mother, preparing to make the 45 minute drive. I've been tasked with staying home with our boys while mother and daughter are gone. I'm not much of a cook, but I managed to make them breakfast and clean up a bit.
Hannah had to leave this morning to the hospital very early. It was still dark as she clutched her stuffed animal and climbed into the minivan with her mother, preparing to make the 45 minute drive. I've been tasked with staying home with our boys while mother and daughter are gone. I'm not much of a cook, but I managed to make them breakfast and clean up a bit.
I confess I'm distracted. I keep thinking about Hannah lying on the narrow table in the cath-lab, surrounded by clacking machines and smiling strangers who will poke her with large needles. I mentally understand the procedure. Both my wife and I accept the risks, hoping that this will all work for Hannah's favor eventually. Emotionally, however, I am frustrated, angered by a sagging acknowledgement that I have absolutely no control over this epilepsy, this shadowy ogre that has robbed my daughter of the sharp and curious mind she possessed when she was a toddler.
I just received a telephone call from my wife. Hannah is done with the procedure and now must lay perfectly still on her back for five hours until the gaping hole in her femoral artery has begun to close. Hannah had to be stuck in both femoral arteries, as the first stick on the right side didn't work. More pain, more tears, more healing. She and mom should be back home by the late afternoon.
I'm trying to keep the boys busy, occupied with something that will not rot their minds. I guess I'm trying to keep myself busy, too. The clock is running unusually slow today. It's raining outside. Appropriate.
We should learn the results of Hannah's Wada in about a week. Then, based on these results, we will plan the next step.
I'll keep you posted.
