In preparing for surgery, I’m borrowing strength from my sons
Reflecting on their bravery and vulnerability in the face of hemophilia
Preparing for major spinal surgery has me feeling more than the usual pre-op jitters. There’s something more profound at work — a feeling that connects me to the years of watching my son Caeleb endure numerous surgeries as a result of complications from severe hemophilia with an inhibitor.
Because of his bleeding disorder, Caeleb’s surgeries involved unusual risks. Sitting in the waiting room became routine for me, but fear and anxiety were ever-present. For several years now, Caeleb’s hemophilia has been stable, and his complications are a thing of the past. Yet the lingering memories of his hospitalizations feed my anxiety ahead of my surgery.
Every time I witnessed Caeleb being rolled in a hospital bed to the operating room, my heart ached. Thousands of “what-ifs” raced through my mind as I considered every scenario, from the worst to the best. His resilience and bravery were humbling — a beacon of hope in the face of uncertainty. I knew how delicate and unpredictable his journey with hemophilia could be, and the emotional toll of these experiences on both of us was immense.
Caeleb’s resilient spirit is something I carry with me now as I face my own surgery.
It’s my turn to be the vulnerable one
As a mother and caregiver, I’ve spent many years working to protect and comfort Caeleb through his pain, but now I feel guilty. I stood by my son when he was at his most vulnerable, exuding a strength I never imagined possible. Will I be able to show the same strength in the face of my own surgery? Will Caeleb think less of me when he senses my fear and unease? I should be able to put on a brave face and meet the surgery head-on without fear, but the uncertainty is nerve-racking.
I’m not just anxious about my own outcome; I also worry about how my enduring such a significant surgery will affect my sons. I’ve always been the one holding everyone else steady; how can I allow myself to become the vulnerable one?
While Caeleb has faced more complications, his older brother, Julian, lives with hemophilia, too. They’ve faced their health issues with courage and bravery, though I’ve also glimpsed moments of fear.
I’m reminded that strength doesn’t mean the absence of worry. Like Caeleb, I may be able to turn my fear into something else — perhaps a quiet resilience, a deep understanding of the human experience, or a renewed sense of trust in my support network. I hope to emerge from this experience with a greater capacity for empathy and a quieter but no less powerful form of resilience.
Preparing for surgery is helping me appreciate the complexities of caregiving and vulnerability on a whole new level. I don’t have to shoulder this challenge alone, just as Caeleb and Julian never did. This surgery may bring fear and anxiety, but my unwavering support system — a source of comfort and reassurance — reminds me that I’m not alone. Perhaps it’s another step toward learning to accept help and face challenges with the same strength I’ve seen in my sons.
I realize it’s OK to feel vulnerable; in fact, it’s an integral part of the journey toward resilience. This acknowledgment, a validation of our shared experiences, brings greater understanding and acceptance.
It’s time to let go of my fear and invite vulnerability.
Note: Hemophilia News Today is strictly a news and information website about the disease. It does not provide medical advice, diagnosis, or treatment. This content is not intended to be a substitute for professional medical advice, diagnosis, or treatment. Always seek the advice of your physician or another qualified health provider with any questions you may have regarding a medical condition. Never disregard professional medical advice or delay in seeking it because of something you have read on this website. The opinions expressed in this column are not those of Hemophilia News Today or its parent company, Bionews, and are intended to spark discussion about issues pertaining to hemophilia.
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