What You Don’t Know

“Hospitals are no place for loud shenanigans. So, what on earth is that racket?!” That question glared back at me more times than I can count as I made my way to the car.

The walk in had been filled with smiles, laughs and a few questions mixed with only the slightest hint of anxiousness. You see, our oldest little boy has had issues with his eyes since he was about 2 years old and today was the day surgery would address what glasses had not fixed.

The morning was filled with check-ins, run-of-the-mill questions and texts from family and friends with their prayers and support. When I introduced him to the hospital gown there was a foreshadowing that neither my Mom-heart nor my Professional-brain registered. He was excited to see the cute little tiger gown and gladly removed his shirt. The lower half of his outfit was a different story. At first, I thought his hesitation was due to the chill in the room. However, offering a warmed blanket only succeeded in removing his jeans. The underwear was simply not happening. I chalked it up to nerves and we agreed to watch a little cartoon and set a timer for removing his undies (I’ve learned that with a little preparation, my children are fairly agreeable even when doing things they are not overly excited about). All was well.

The timer went off, little-man was ready to bravely do that which worried him greatly and I explained our simple deal with the nurse. In her kindness, she stated that for this particular procedure it was not actually necessary to remove them and he happily left his Paw Patrol pals planted firmly on his booty. It was a mistake I didn’t see coming that taught me a lesson I will never forget.

He was happily whisked off to surgery and I waited patiently and peacefully for my name to be called. The procedure was supposed to take around 20 minutes and the handy little screen told me “Surgery in Progress” next to his assigned number. Almost an hour later, my name was called.

As I sat in the private waiting room where I would speak with the surgeon my mind tried to take over and flood me with the worries of “what if” and the unknown. The surgeon entered and quickly those irrational thoughts I had been praying off vanished completely, “He did great and it was perfectly boring – in a good way. No issues at all!” He gave details of follow up and healing time, then I was back out waiting to be called to post-op once he was awake. 5 minutes later, I was following a nurse to “Bay 5”. He was still sleepy and peaceful when I slid my hand over his head and took my seat next to him.

“He had a little accident, but I will help you clean him up once he’s a little more alert,” said the kind nurse at his bedside. We discussed discharge orders and medication while watching him quickly become more and more awake. IV removed, questions answered and all that remained was to change clothes and head home.

That’s where the meltdown began.

Those same coveted undies were soaked and I had not anticipated needing to bring extras. They were quickly removed; he was gently cleaned up and his dry clothes were lovingly placed over his head and then on his legs. In his uninhibited state from medication, my sweet little 4-year-old turned into a screaming banshee who’s mantra was simply, “I – WANT – MY – UNDERWEAR!”

We tried training pants the hospital had on hand – nope! Commando was a no-go as well. So, there I stood with a half-dressed, med-drunk 4-year-old standing on the bed screaming at the top of his lungs that he wanted underwear. I realized that there was no fixing the situation and we needed to just get on our way and find the boy some undies. I explained this through his tears and the fit only grew as he screamed he wanted THOSE underwear.

I did what had to be done.

Bags were collected, jeans were pulled up, shoes put on and I proceeded to carry a squalling child that hangs half-way down my body through the length of the hospital. That’s where the glares started to kick in. I was keenly aware that his behavior was rude, loud, inconsiderate and inappropriate for a child his age in a normal situation.

Yet, holding my screaming, confused and hungry little boy I knew what they didn’t.

He had been a brave boy and underwent an experience that was new and scary even to adults. His response was a mix of emotions usually kept in check by the wits that had been removed by the medication needed to safely get him to sleep. The surgery was on his eyes – so he didn’t look to have anything wrong with him to any of the onlookers.

That was my learning moment. My life has mostly consisted of being the onlooker. Sometimes informed and understanding the full story behind another’s meltdown. More often unaware and – if I’m being honest – judgey based upon what is seen and forgetting there’s a lot I don’t know.

3 minutes down the road with clean undies on, a cup of juice and chips in hand (he had not eaten in over 12 hours at that point) he was back to my polite, sweet, smiling little boy. The hospital people didn’t see that. To them, I am still “that woman who needs to control her child”. That’s ok.

Just like underwear, what I don’t see on the surface often matters more. Love people even when they seem completely unlovable – it’s likely when they need it most.

written by Kelli Keller