Your precious child is about to have an operation. The time was set more than a month beforehand. The time passes quickly. The more the date is getting nearer, the more you find yourself nervous and miserable. You shout at the whole world. Even at your neighbor, without any reasonable explanation. You feel a bit mad. You want to tear the world apart. You hardly sleep at night. You wake up with a vision of your child, extremely pale, lying on his sickbed, looking at you helplessly.
The day comes. Your child, who trusts you so much, lets you dress him up with the hospital’s pajamas and chats amiably with the nurses and doctors. A nurse rolls his bed to the operation room. Like a lamb to the slaughter, you keep repeating in your mind. Like a lamb to the slaughter.
You wait an hour and a half until you can see him again. He is asleep. You carefully watch him breath. He wakes up and cries. You feel so nauseated you almost faint on the recovery’s room floor. He is taken to his room at the children’s ward. He is thirsty and hungry and nervous. He eats a whole tray of hospital’s food and than laughs and walks and pees. In the evening you take him to your mother’s house where he recovers very quickly. Two days after the operation you take him home. You are so relaxed and happy to be home. The storm is over. You can go back to your old self. Back to your old life. The passing weeks seem like a faraway dream. You are at peace.