Reality Sets In

I have been in semi denial about J's "little operation", "small procedure", or as I am know coming to think of it "they are putting my son to sleep for a 1.5 hour why the fuck does it take so long? operation in 24 hours." I was anxious to get the call yesterday to know what time it is tomorrow. M was fighting over whether o not heaven exists with J in the morning, distraught because he said it didn't.  M also cried a lot in school yesterday and just wanted her teacher to hug her, unable to articulate what was wrong, "bad day" she kept saying. She is anxious I fear, and worried for her best friend. When J was a year old he was anemic and had to have blood regularly drawn (another moronic pediatrician- a tale for another time). One time M was with me, as the doctor, nurse, and myself had to hold him down. M started having a hysterical laughing attack, completely unable to handle seeing her brother suffer. I digress. At 6:30pm I spoke to the nurse. Once I spoke to the nurse, who was very nice, I felt worse instead of better. It all of a sudden became real, immediate, and scary. I know it is a little deal, that there is little risk, and that is very common, but he is little, and I know he is going to hate the IV, and that once he surmises what surgery is (and moves past the "I will get gatorade!), he will freak out. We have to be at the hospital at 8:15am tomorrow (abuelo will take M to school and L the babies- it takes a village for real) his operation is from 9:45-11:15am. I did not enjoy the words "pain", "medication" or "child life specialist" over the phone, but I also know that many parents have to endure real and big medical problems. I am going to be brave. F told J that he was brave. J concurred. Then he asked: "What does brave mean? Does hurting count?" I hate hospitals, I hate kids in hospitals, I am an adult. I am going to deal with this.