The Time I Sang My Daughter Into Anesthesia

Being Grounded

The Story

When my daughter was still in utero, we found out that she had a defect with her kidneys. She was born with bilateral duplicating ureters— basically, extra plumbing between her kidney and bladder. This necessitated two surgeries, one shorter, laparoscopic one when she was five months old, and a much longer one when she was fifteen months old. 

On the day of her second surgery, the nurses had me carry her into the operating room. Her eyes were open, inquisitive, and she settled trustingly against my shoulder. When I lay her down on the cold gurney, though, she began to cry. She reached for me. The nurse put steadying hands on her shoulders and said, “Mom, talk to her while we put her under. Let her hear your voice.”

So I began to sing the lullaby I’d sung to her almost every night of her fifteen months, and her brother before that. “Su la li, su la su. Go to sleep, baby girl.” I held her tiny hand. They put the mask over her face, and her eyes closed. I kept singing, through the tears clogging my throat, until the nurse said softly, “She’s under.” As she walked me out the door, back to the waiting room where I’d sit with my husband for the next five hours, she said to me, “Good job. That was really hard, I know.”

She wasn’t kidding. It was so hard that I look back on it, almost six years later, as one of the defining moments of my life. As a cancer survivor who was diagnosed at fourteen, my very worst fear was that my children would have serious illnesses. I was so paralyzed by this fear that for a brief time in my twenties, I didn’t know if I wanted children. Seeing my beloved daughter be put under anesthesia was traumatic both for the mother in me and the child I once was. It took years to process and heal from that moment.

But a recent, similar experience changed my memory of that operating room.

My dad had surgery this past August. He was slated for the first surgery of the day with a very early report time, so my parents asked me to stay with them in a hotel near the hospital— the same hospital where I’d had cancer treatments, and adjacent to the children’s hospital where my daughter’s surgeries took place. Even though my desire be there for my parents was strong, I didn’t think I could bear being that close to the site of my trauma, the linkage of my and my daughter’s worst moments, overnight. It took me some time to decide. But in the end, I stayed in the hotel, and we went to the hospital together in the early morning hours. As I waited with my dad, holding his hand and talking to the nurses and doctors, I realized with surprise that I felt a sense of peace. Not because I wasn’t worried about my dad, but because I knew I was exactly where I needed to be. 

And that was true of my brief time in my daughter’s operating room, too. That short time contained so much trauma and grief. But I was able to sing the song despite the tears in my throat, because at that moment, there was nowhere else I could be but with my baby, soothing her in any way I could. My values of family and supportiveness and showing up for the ones I love, however I can, kept me grounded. 

There was something beautiful in that moment, after all, and I didn’t see it until after I’d gone through something similar with my dad, with the perspective of years. Being grounded doesn’t always feel peaceful. It means feeling perfectly aligned with your values. And sometimes that’s as simple as showing up with love, even when it costs you something. 

Photo by Liv Bruce on Unsplash

The Character Trait

When you’re grounded, you’re connected to your deepest roots. That can mean the literal earth— the ground— if that’s of value to you, but it can also mean your familial roots; your morals and values; or your most practical, pragmatic self. Our different human natures means that this trait can appear in many forms, but ultimately, being grounded means connecting to the deepest, most certain parts of our souls.

Let’s Do Some Stuff Together

First, it’s important to practice feeling connected to our bodies and to the earth if we are to feel grounded. Deep breathing, yoga, meditation, being in nature, and creative states of flow can help us practice this feeling. This week, try one or all of these grounding experiences. One thing that’s been helping me is getting away from a prescribed yoga practice and just doing what my body feels it needs. (Lately, this means a lot of hip-openers and pigeon poses. Middle-age creakiness!)

As you become more comfortable connecting to your body, notice when that feeling of “rightness” comes to you. What circumstances prompted that feeling? If you notice what grounds you, you can find those circumstances again and again.

Want more?

If you’re a parent, take opportunities with your children— hugging them, observing them in a new way, doing fun things together— to feel grounded in your sense of identity as a parent.

If you’re a teacher, take a moment before each school day to remind yourself why you teach. Recall memories of success with students. Ground yourself in your sense of purpose.

If you’re a writer/creator, take the time to list your characters’ values, so that you can put them in scenarios that feel grounding to the reader.

How did this work for you? Leave a comment below, and you might be featured in next week’s newsletter!

Last Week’s Leftovers

Last week, I shared a story of stoicism about my grandfather, who was stationed at a concentration camp during his service in WWII. Some family members weighed in to corroborate that my grandpa was a very special man (thank you, Lisa and Beth!). Kathy suggested that instead of using “Accept” as a mantra, you could say, “I’d rather have peace.” As someone who’s constantly chasing peace, I find this saying helpful.

Stuff You Might Like To Know

I have a new publication out this week! My short essay “Bessie,” about my great-great-grandmother’s photograph, has been published in The Ekphrastic Review. It’s a Canadian publication, so Americans, note the spelling of the word “labor!”

My favorite Substack newsletter recently was Katie Hawkins-Gaar’s My Sweet Dumb Brain. Her post about cleaning as a coping mechanism for stress and anxiety made me feel SO SEEN.

I’m currently reading Heather Cox Richardson’s DEMOCRACY AWAKENING (nonfiction) and Ashely Poston’s THE SEVEN YEAR SLIP (romance).

Here’s to us, in all of our imperfect, striving goodness.

Keep hoping. Keep caring. Keep trying.