This moment:
When my 6 year old son (only child, at the time) was in the hospital, recovering from a second surgery to his skull and cervical spine. This had to be done because of a neurosurgeon's mistake during what was supposed to be a "routine" Arnold–Chiari malformation repair.
The new team of doctors had harvested bone from his hip to reconstruct his skull, then fused his skull to his neck with titanium rods. He was put in traction, and would have to wear a halo for three months.
On this night, he hadn't woken up from surgery yet.
On this night, we didn't know if he would... or what he would be like if/when he did.
On this night, someone else's baby died from surgical complications two rooms away.
On this night, I let go of all those crazy notions I ever had about my son excelling in sports, or getting straight A's, or going to a top notch school, or doing any of those glorious things that make me feel like "Mom of the Year."
On this night, and every night since, I just wanted my baby to wake up... to be healthy, and happy, and enjoy being ALIVE.
As I watched him sleep, and waited for signs that he would be OK, my view of the world, and my role in it, was completely redefined. Now I know that each and every moment I have with him (and now his little sister) is the greatest gift I could ever wish for.
This was the night I learned exactly what kind of mom I wanted to be.
Now my son is doing GREAT. He's almost 14 now, and has no neurological damage from either surgery. Interestingly, he has no memory of that year of surgeries, pain, and recovery. He's strong, and smart, and healthy, and happy, and amazing to be around every single day.
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