So I hesitated to write about this; didn’t, in fact, write about it beforehand for fear of jinxing everything; wasn’t going to write about it even after everything went down because maybe you don’t need to document everything on the internet; ultimately decided to write about it for reasons other than oversharing about my young daughter’s life.
When Louisa was born she had a little bump over her right eye. Nobody really noticed it but me and my husband and since her pediatrician never even asked about it I figured oh well. Then it started to get bigger. And people would ask me what it was. Which made me start worrying about it (my hypochondria blew it all out of proportion until it was baby cancer and she was going to die – yeah, calm down imagination). So at her 9 month check up I asked the pediatrician. She decided it was probably a dermoid cyst and gave us a referral to some sort of ocular surgeon (a very odd woman that I didn’t quite trust to slice into my daughter but she’s pretty much the only one in Vegas so thank God it all worked out) who makes most of her money shooting Botox into vain people’s faces because GOD FORBID WE SHOULD HAVE WRINKLES.
It was indeed a dermoid cyst and didn’t really need to be removed unless it really got bigger and/or started obscuring her vision. Both of which started happening shortly after our consultation so I bit the bullet and scheduled the surgery. Now, if you have any children at all you will know that scheduling your not-even-one-year-old daughter to be not only cut into but put under general anesthesia is terrifying. And it was. And I dreaded it for the two weeks between making the appointment and her having the surgery. Dreaded it so much that I made myself sick (yeah -calm down, gastrointestinal system). And then yesterday came and went in a blur and she was and is fine. Her little eye is swollen so that for the first time in her life nobody came up to us yesterday and said “ohmygawsh your daughter is beautiful, is she a model because she should be, look at those eyes!” etc. But aside from scratching at her stitches a little bit she is none the worse for wear and is tearing around the house like the usual menace that she is.
So here’s what irritates me about the whole thing (aside from the weirdo Botox doctor, the fact that my baby has stitches at 11 months old, and pretty much all of the people in the waiting room at the hospital yesterday). The nurse who had to check us in and quiz me about Lou’s medical history (hint: 11-month-old children have relatively little in the way of medical history – they were born, they had some vaccinations, The End) kept referring to her “deformity”. Um…k. First of all, we don’t use the term deformity anymore. It’s like the word Oriental – only my 79-year-old Grandma uses it. We call them limb differences. Second of all, YOU’RE A NURSE. Please don’t try to make me believe you have never seen or heard of such a thing. While she was querying me about milestones reached (because apparently it is imperative to know whether or not you can say Mama and Dada before undergoing a cyst removal? Yeah – calm down, US healthcare system) she was like “so, is she crawling yet? I mean, can she with her deformity?” Bitch, please. My baby crawls like a boss. She crawls better than your honor student. She was crawling before crawling was cool. “Can she even use her arm at all?” Seriously?! Can you even use your brain at all? She’s missing like half of her hand, the other half works just fine, as does the entire arm/shoulder/BODY that it is attached to. I think I actually laughed at her but it’s hard to remember because it was a tiring day.
I’ll stop complaining now, and maybe just explain to you folks that people are super resilient and can do lots of stuff. Even if they are missing some of their bits. And it’s dumb to expect that they don’t or won’t. And to save you from being a complete dillhole – don’t say deformity to a mom. She might cut you.