Today my favourite 11-week old is having surgery. On her eye. *Shiver*
It is hard to describe the emotions I have whizzed through in one day. Anger, sadness, hope, loss, grief, fear, helplessness, jealousy and guilt.
I see other little babies on Facebook and think: Why were they born without a cataract? Do their parents appreciate their sight? I fear that she will be teased one day for wearing glasses. I grieve the loss of her “perfection”. Helpless for not being there by her side. Guilty for not being there by her side. Anger at the doctors who made her wait two and a half hours extra before they operated, teasing her already hungry little frame.
And hidden in that list of gloom: hope. You possibly read past it. Hope, that the operation will be a success. That she will have favour with the surgeons and staff. That her parents will be at peace. That her recovery will be miraculously fast. That His Name will be glorified through this somehow. That she will have the coolest eye patch any baby has ever had.
And that is just it. That tiny word: Hope.