When my babies were born, I excitedly examined them head to toe, counting fingers and toes, and marveling at their appearances. After waiting such a long time, imagining what they would look like, to finally meet and see these little people was, in a word, breathtaking.
They were perfect, thank God. Healthy and perfect. But now I make my guilty confession. Miss A was born with a pre-auricular tag (a small piece of extra skin tissue right in front of the ear), and I felt briefly disappointed when I saw it. I feel ashamed to say that now, but I'm being honest. On her tiny 5 pound frame and her nearly-bald head, it looked so big in the beginning (it was about the size of a tic tac, maybe slightly smaller). As a proud new mommy, I hated the thought of showing off my perfect, beautiful baby girl and having to answer the question, "What's that?".
So, if the doctors had offered to remove it that day, I probably would have agreed. But that's not how it happened. We saw our pediatrician at 2 weeks, he sent a referral to a pediatric plastic surgeon, and basically said, don't hold your breath, it won't be anytime soon. We lovingly named Miss A's ear tag her 'antenna', and I smiled at the thought that she was so special that God made a little extra piece of her. Over a year passed. I hardly thought about it anymore. Miss A had a nice little head of hair and a beautiful personality, and her (now tiny looking) ear tag was the least of my concerns. Then a call came for a consult, and it was forefront in my mind again. This time, though, instead of anxiously wanting to have it removed, I was anxious about the thought of my baby girl having to have surgery. Oh, how perspective changes. Not to worry, we saw the surgeon and he told us he'd try to get her in before she started school. Phew. Nothing to worry about for a few more years.
Another year passed. Did I worry about the skin tag? Not at all. Did I want it removed as soon as possible? Wasn't worried about it. Miss A wore ponytails with her ear tag on full display, no one ever asked about it, and she was as cute as a button. She certainly never asked about it either. Then the phone call came. We had a surgery date 9 days before Christmas. What?! She's only 2 1/2! I thought I had more time before I had to worry about this! General anesthetic? I don't know. I had a pit in my stomach for two months wrestling with the decision. I talked to a lot of friends who have older children in school, about self-esteem and teasing. I heard from family members who thought I should just leave it be, that it would build her character. I thought about myself as a teen, and what I would have wanted. My husband preferred to have it removed, thinking of how cruel kids can be. I agreed. I wanted to protect my little girl from hurtful words.
The doctors tell you about the procedure, and of course, the very rare risks. This is the hardest part. What if something happened? What if my little girl was the one in a million? For what? For something purely aesthetic? Ultimately, we weighed the risks and benefits and decided to proceed.
We prepped Miss A one or two days in advance, that we were going to the doctor and that he was going to check her ears. We went to the hospital as a family, and Miss M was there the whole time to support her sister. Knowing their personalities, I'm sure the day would have been much more stressful had it been Miss M, as at that point, she was still quite fearful of doctors. Miss M knew that this day was all about her sister though, and she was happy to come along for moral support. Miss A happily changed into her hospital pajamas and got stickers on both of her hands (numbing cream). Then off we went to do puzzles and watch movies until it was our turn. I went with her into the OR and she calmly sat on my lap while the anesthesiologist put in her IV. We looked at all of the pictures on the walls and she didn't even flinch when her needle went in. Within seconds, the staff were urging me to lay her down as quickly as possible, and as I laid her on the table, she was completely limp. The thought of that moment brings tears to my eyes. The nurses had warned me she wouldn't look like her normal sleeping self, and they were right. It was the hardest and scariest moment I've been through as a parent. I was whisked out of the OR at that point and given a pager that would go off in an hour or two, I was told. I went back to hold Miss M in my arms and to try to distract myself.
Within an hour, our pager beeped and we rushed in a panic to the day ward. We found Miss A sitting quietly in a nurse's lap, eating a purple popsicle. What relief, I can't describe it. She was doing great. Miss M quickly talked the nurse into getting her a popsicle too, and was very determined that she would like a pair of those hospital pajamas as well. The girls each had another popsicle, and then we were on our way. Miss A was dancing by the time we were home.
Was it the right thing to do, I guess I'll never know. I do know that Miss A was the definition of brave that day, and she made me so proud. There were no tears, no complaints, nothing. I think she helped her sister as well. Miss M saw that doctors and nurses take care of us (and give us posicles), and along with a few storybooks about trips to the doctor, I think the whole experience has helped Miss M to overcome her fear. I can't say enough about the staff who took care of us that day, and helped to make such an intimidating experience such a positive one.
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