A coming of age

The day that Natalia would have her surgery had finally arrived. I had made a mistake. I told her that it would be an “interwencja“, a word that in Polish at that time almost a decade ago was used to suggest something minor. Today in Poland “interwencja” is used much like its English translation” intervention”, as an euphemism for an operation among other things. Natalia had understood the word as I had intended but in reality it would be a far more serious affair, an actual surgery where she would be put under general anesthetic. I had wanted to protect her and I tried to shield her from the truth.


The procedure would require that a small piece of bone be removed from the leg for examination by the pathologist. Natalia had no fear. The image remains to this day, she wore a slight smile, a brave little soldier ready for anything, speaking without what seemed a care in the world to the anesthesiologist. That image rests with me as she embarked on what would the first of the 19 operations that she has endured to this day, with more planned for a future date.

While she was in the operating room I felt a flood of anxiety. I was nervous about the outcome of the biopsy. The suspense was hard to bear. Perhaps I was also worried because I had kept my emotions in check when I was in front of her but now that she was not there the veneer slipped away. Everyone must have these feelings when the circumstances are so raw, when it is your child that is put in such a vulnerable position.

When Natalia emerged from the operating room, it was very difficult for her to speak but the doctors encouraged us to talk to facilitate her revival from the anesthetic. Though she struggled I could understand her words. She was aware of her surroundings. She asked me immediately why I had told her it was only going to be an intervention when it was actually an operation. This is a question that she still asks me to this day. I had thought that I would protect her and not disturb her by minimizing what she was going to undergo, but she was shocked at the last moment when she had learned that that she was about to undergo more than she had expected.

It was a turning point in my view of her. Before the diagnosis she had been such a gentle child that I worried about her constantly. It had seemed to me that she was too vulnerable and too forgiving. A skirmish with some of her friends where it had been clear to me that she had been the object of bullying saw her trying to explain and defend those who had mistreated her. A child psychologist had told me that she needs to understand that the world can be cruel and hostile place and that she must learn to defend herself when the time arises. After the surgery when she asked me why I had hidden the truth from her. I saw her then as far stronger than I could have imagined. I saw her as an adult, someone who understood the implications of what was happening to her and able to endure. It was a coming of age, I realized, even in someone so young.