Home of the Brave

Yes, it’s the 4th of July, and I am ever-grateful for those who went before us and stood up for our freedoms. And I am continually grateful for those who choose to fight to keep our freedoms and to gain freedom for others around the world.

But that’s not what this post is about. I looked up the meaning of the word brave. It says “displaying or possessing courage.”

This weekend, as we celebrate the home of the brave, we have seen a different display of courage in our home.

Friday, our 10 year old, underwent surgery. It was nothing major. At a well-check a few weeks ago, his doctor detected an issue and referred us to a specialist. The specialist then decided that surgery was necessary and scheduled it for 3 days later, which was this past Friday.

Jack is not a fan of all things medical – medicine, dentists, shots, talk of disease, etc. He’d just rather not think about it, much less talk about it or experience it. Fortunately, he’s been our healthiest child so we haven’t had to deal much with his fear of all things medical. Until Friday.

In the few days we had to prepare for his procedure, we talked through a lot of fear and anxiety. As we drove to the hospital that morning, Jack said to Dave, “Dad, you played a pretty good psychologist last night. I’d give you a B.” Eventually that fateful moment came when we walked into the hospital.

Jack took each moment in stride and we did our best to work through the emotions and balance that with distractions.

The cool thing was that he could draw on his sheets.

He had to make sure that they knew his name is Jack even though the records say John.

Eventually they came to wheel him away and he was on his own facing his fears. Later he told me that he wasn’t brave because he cried when they wheeled him away. I reassured him that his bravery was exactly that – his tears were an honest display of how scared he was. And it took courage to keep control of himself otherwise and follow the directions of the nurses and doctors.

A little over an hour later we were in the recovery room with him as he fought the yucky feeling of waking from anesthesia and realized what “you’ll be a little sore” really means. And then the realization that he had not one, but two scars, to remind him of this day.

A little while later we were packing up and heading home – which is exactly where Jack wanted to go. Here he is in his ride out – he told the nurse the two-seater wheel chair might be a bit much for him.

So on this weekend as we celebrate the home of the brave, we’ve been home with our brave 10 year old, who now has quite a story under his belt…