not in a million years
So I’m a moron. I mean it. A complete and total dork.
My idiocy seems to come out NOT in front of fellow idiots, but around uber smart, genius type people. You know, those who intimidate the heck out of you and before whom you know ahead of time that you should just keep your mouth shut and nod “yes” and “no” appropriately…because if you do say something, the whole world will know that you are moron supreme?
That’s me every time we go to the pedi urologist. This man is brilliant. Brilliant I say. He has served as president of the American Association of Pedi Urologists and is on Fox News from time to time as an expert {the national Fox, not your little local one} and is just so darn smart and I generally become a flustered mess around him.
Case in point. I spilled an entire snack container of Cheerios in the exam room while he was giving me our son’s prognosis back in January. A million Cheerios. We both tried to ignore it. But every step the man took…
CRUNCH.
And I, in turn, would CRINGE in embarrassment. And he would say, “Mrs. ‘so and so’, you seem very distracted today.” And I would say, “Oh, no. This is just me around you. I’m generally really on top of things.” Said the idiot to the genius.
And then once he said that we would schedule another appointment in three months {June} and I counted four months ahead to July for the scheduler and the doctor overhead me and came OUT OF HIS OFFICE to correct me and say that, in fact, “March to June is really only three months, not four.”
For the love of all that is holy and reasonable, why could I not count that day? Of all people to be a dork in front of, why this man? I could go on and on with all of the stupid things we’ve done since being the parents of his patients {both of our sons have had their urologic surgeries performed by him}. But sufficed to say, our latest visit, took the cake.
Because this brilliant man said something that I didn’t see coming and wouldn’t have for a million years. After our son’s next extensive urologic surgery this July, he will be placed in a spica body cast for two weeks.
Complete immobility.
For two weeks.
During July.
In the South.
Now to be fair, I’ve learned a TON about these things over the last month. 
And the biggest revelation is that I need to put my big girl panties on and stop whining about it. Because most kids who find themselves in a cast like this do so for weeeeeeeks at a time. Eeeek. 6 weeks, 12 weeks, 16 weeks. Heaven help them.
And the biggest revelation is that I need to put my big girl panties on and stop whining about it. Because most kids who find themselves in a cast like this do so for weeeeeeeks at a time. Eeeek. 6 weeks, 12 weeks, 16 weeks. Heaven help them.
It’s just that I didn’t see it coming.
And I forgot one of the biggest rules in parenting our sweet babies with unknown beginnings…expect the unexpected.
Roll with the punches.
Keep calm and shut up around the urologist!
I must have had the dumbest look on my face when he told me his plan. Because he just looked at me with the same dumb face! But I see it now. I see the plan. I understand the whys and hows it will all play out.
Grafting the sweet tissue from his cheeks {ouch} to correct what our Gabe is lacking for normal function “down there”.
Complete immobilization to ensure that the precious graft’s blood supply stays in tact.
Spica cast and yet another urinary catheter for two weeks this July.
Nope. I didn’t see it coming at all. But really, who cares that I didn’t plan it this way? I mean, look at this beautiful boy?
He will do so well…and I get to be his mama and love him through it and eat ice cream together and crank our AC down to 65 degrees and just relish the fact that our Gabe will have completed three surgeries in a matter of seven months…and that God has met us at our point of need every step of the way.
I didn’t see it coming. But I know Who did. And I trust we will find Him faithful yet again.
