4:00 am comes early. I always knew that it did, but I gained some renewed appreciation for Roland's ridiculous hours this morning as the alarm went off and Emma and I rolled out of bed and on to the hospital for her surgery this morning. Emma had been anticipating this day for weeks, frequently telling complete strangers of the various problems her tonsils had caused and that they would soon cease to be a problem. We met another little girl in the pediatric pre-op room who was, amazingly, even perkier than Emma at 5:30 am. They became fast friends and played with the Bratz horses the little girl's mom had just given her as a special treat for the day. They were very cute and chatty about the procedures they would be having that day until an older woman with a clip board came and collected the group of hospital gowned victims and marched them en mass through the halls of the 3rd floor to the surgery holding area. It was sad to hear the same two little girls about two hours later, just a curtain apart, moaning in agony as the anesthesia wore off and the reality of surgical pain set in. Poor little Emma, I'm afraid, was not expecting to have so much pain. And the promises of endless popsicles and ice cream are not quite the prize she had imagined . . . Anyway, she was pretty funny before the surgery "Can we ask the doctor to put the tonsils in a jar? Because, I will miss them."
