Tough Conversations

From what I understand, we've been in the hearts and on the minds of people since our nightmare began five months ago. And we appreciate that support so much.

Today I'm asking you to think of us a little bit more.

Please think of little Tripp at 9 a.m. on Monday.

That's when nurses will wheel him down the hall and doctors will prep him for general anesthesia.

Think of us at 7:30 a.m. when a child life specialist tries to explain the morning's events to a 3 year old.

And at 6:15 when we give Tripp a dose of antibiotic, kiss Isaac goodbye, and take off for Boys Town Hospital.

Finally, think of us Sunday evening when we sit both Isaac and Tripp down to explain exactly what in the world is going on.

If you find yourself wondering, "gosh, what is going on," here's the deal: You may remember me referencing an upcoming dental appointment a few weeks ago. Yeah, it didn't go so well for Tripp. He totally freaked out in the dentist's chair and had six cavities to boot. Yes, six.

For goodness sakes, we were just there six months ago and everything was fine.

What happened?

Oh yeah. Six months ago everything in our lives was perfectly fine. Everything.

But then you get a leukemia diagnosis.

And death.

Not to mention total devastation and despair.

And a little boy's dental care got lost in the shuffle.

I can't count the number of times Tripp went to bed with a sippie cup full of juice just so we could get him to fall asleep. The constant stream of Starburst candy Scott fed him probably didn't help either. Neither did the fact that I actually took a 3 year old at his word when he told me he had brushed the fronts, backs, tops, and bottoms.

So that's where we are.

Given Tripp's reaction at the dentist's office that day, the dentist really had no other choice but to do all this under general anesthesia. That means we have to have that tough conversation Sunday night.

Or do we, you ask?

Yes, we do. You can't just show up at the hospital without a little prep work.

But what do Isaac and Tripp know of hospitals? They know that their sister went there to get better and never came back. So when we tell them Tripp needs to get his mouth fixed (I decided to go with mouth, not teeth), I'm not sure what their reaction will be.

If this were any other family, this little dental procedure would be no big deal.

After all, thousands of kids have this type of thing done every day.

Just like thousands of kids get fevers.

But we know freak things happen. We know astronomical odds. We know there's a snowball's chance that something could go wrong. Heck, we were the snowball's chance.

I wouldn't even worry about this conversation with Tripp and Isaac if I didn't think there was the slightest possibility that something could go wrong.

And that sickens me.