I panicked. Surgery meant I’d be under for hours, possibly overnight. My first thought was my kids. I needed someone to watch them—someone I trusted. My parents lived just fifteen minutes away. They adored the twins, always talking about how “lucky” they were to have grandkids nearby.
I called my mom, clutching my phone with sweaty hands as another wave of pain shot through me.
“Mom,” I gasped, “I’m at home, I need to go to the hospital. I think it’s my appendix. Can you please come watch the kids?”
