For the past few months I've always hated waking up of a morning. I'm fine for a few seconds but then I start remembering what's about to happen.
Tuesday morning was the worst experience of this.
I knew this was our only option for Martha - I just wished it wasn't.
We went to see her at 8am and were told the surgeons Registrar would be in to see us at 10am to discuss the procedure and for us to sign the consent forms. I made Mark sign - I don't know why, we both wanted her to have the surgery.
The truth is that she won't survive without it, so regardless of what the risks of surgery were - she couldn't afford not to have it. At least there was a chance of her surviving surgery.
We called for the Hospital's Catholic Chaplain to come and Bless Martha. She was absolutely lovely, said some lovely comforting words. Saying a prayer for her most definitely helped me anyway. Martha was also given her own Rosary beads - they are pink. Mark held on to them all day long.
We were then allowed to take Martha Grace out of her cot for a cuddle.
This was heartbreaking - my poor baby Girl fast asleep in my arms - no idea what were Mammi and Daddy were about to put her through.
A million thoughts raced through my mind. Had we done the right thing? Were we right to bring her into this world knowing she needed such high risk surgery?
She looked so peaceful, so innocent and absolutely perfect.
It's so unfair that she would have to suffer.
I know they were all saying she won't feel anything - but it doesn't make things any easier.
Our parents came in to see her and give her a kiss and then we were asked to put her back in her cot ready to go to Theatre.
Then the Bedside phone started ringing. They were ready for her. She was to be taken to Theatre 8.
Nurses were summoned and they started to go to their checklist one final time.
We were asked to leave - we weren't allowed to watch her go. It was 1:40pm. This was to be a 5 - 6 hour operation.
I wish I could remember more about the rest of the afternoon; but it's a blur!!! There was lots of crying, lots of drinking tea. Jumping each time Mark's phone rang. Taking each hour that the phone didn't ring as a good sign that they hadn't encountered any problems.
I remember it being 7:20pm and being kicked out of the Hospital canteen. We decided we would wait in the main foyer rather than walk towards the Cardiac ward.
We waited and waited and still no call came.
It was 8pm and still nothing.
A nurse we recognised from the ward was walking out of the Hospital at the end of her shift and winked at us.
All of a sudden she stopped,then turned around. "Have they called you?" she asked. I replied "No! Why? Is she back?"
"Yeah - she's been back on the ward about 15mins, but give them half an hour or so to settle her in!!"
I cried, my legs almost gave way underneath me.
She'd made it through the operation.