neverbeencool

I used to think that euphemisms and political-correctness were useless constructs created for people who didn’t have the sack to face reality.

‘Post Traumatic Stress Disorder is for pussies,’ I’d think to myself. “Real men get shell shock.’

Or ‘Developmentally disabled, my ass. Dubya will always be a retard to me!’

Now, though, I’ve changed my mind.

See, if I still thought all euphemisms were tools of the Devil, I wouldn’t be able to talk about my daughter’s surgery tomorrow as ’serial excision’ Instead, I’d have to say something like ‘tomorrow, we get to wake our four-year-old daughter up before dawn and drive three hours to the hospital in Seattle. Once there, we’ll pay masked strangers to inject her full of drugs until she loses consciousness, then wait for them to cut out pieces of her face and, eventually, sew her cheek back together. She’ll then get to repeat the process 2-5 more times over the next couple of years.’

I like ’serial excision’ better.

As for Ani, well, she’s excited about the whole thing. She wants to go up there tomorrow, wants to see the doctors, wants to have the nevus removed. Of course, I don’t think she really understands exactly what’s going to happen, or that she’ll have to go through this experience several times before she’s in the clear. How do you explain ’serial excision’ to a four-year-old if she’s never gone through it before?

And we’re pretty sure she wants it removed for her, not for us. For the first few years of her life, we went the try-not-to-make-a-big-deal-about-the-nevus-around-the-girl route, acknowledging that it’s there but not going crazy over it. Frankly, with or without the bloody thing, she’s still the most beautiful little girl in the world.

But she’s not stupid. She hears the comments from other kids and their ass-hat parents, and she can see for herself that her cheek doesn’t look the same as others.

The first time we mentioned the idea of having a doctor remove it, she was excited. And she broke our hearts. Conversation went something like this:

Us: Bunny, pretty soon, we’re going to go see a doctor and he’s going to take that part off your cheek, ok?
Ani (smiling): Hurray! Then I won’t be sad any more!

Fucking Christ on a stick, how fucking ignorant were we? There we were, thinking Ani didn’t even really pay attention to the birthmark and suddenly she tells that not only does she know about it but that it makes her sad? My Princess was sad and I didn’t know it?! I’m a fucking idiot (no euphemism needed here).

One thing about the little Princess, though: girl’s tough as tails. When she has to get shots, she doesn’t even flinch. Just gives the doctor/nurse the Evil Eye afterward. Pretty sure they lose body parts as a result. She’s 1/32 gypsy, you know. Point is that if anybody can handle this mess and come out swinging, it’s Anikka.

We, however, will be a mess.

The surgery itself should be relatively quick, thankfully. We should only be in Seattle for a couple hours total, with Ani starting the recovery from her own bed. Still, though, it’s going to be a very long day.

So there won’t be a post tomorrow, at least not a new one. Will sort of have other things on my mind. I’ll probably recycle something from my old blog and schedule it to automagically arrive in the morning.

While we’re driving to Seattle.

For the operation.