“Your daughter has appendicitis and the appendix is very close to rupturing,” he explained slowly. “We need to operate immediately because infection could spread quickly if we delay.”
My heart stumbled in my chest and for a moment my hands felt numb. “She is only thirteen years old,” I said uselessly because illness never cared about birthdays.
“I understand,” the doctor replied gently. “But surgery right now will likely solve the problem safely.”
They handed me forms and consent papers while Kayla lay curled on the hospital bed gripping the blanket. She looked at me with glassy eyes and whispered, “Mom please stay with me because I am really scared.”
“I am right here and I will not leave you,” I promised while kissing her damp forehead.
They wheeled her through double doors toward the operating room and she called my name once before the doors closed behind her. The surgery was supposed to last one hour but it stretched painfully into three long hours while I sat in the waiting room listening to ordinary conversations that sounded unreal beside my fear.