It's a day of deja vu all over again.
Not just because we just did the first batch of this back in April.
No....this is deeper than that. This morning we drove the same drive to the hospital that we made at least once a day, and sometimes twice a day, when Acorn was in the NICU.
We parked in the same parking spots, made the same walk across the bridge (albeit with the stroller this time).
We came to the same surgical waiting room where we sat to get his trach. The staff here remembers Acorn - he's too cute not to remember, but kids with trachs aren't that common here either, which means they remember the trach, they remember we were here forever (though no other details) and they comment on how big he is, how much he's grown, how his smile still lights up the room.
Last time we were here (or was it the time before?) there was a couple at the other end of the waiting room with tiny twins, only a couple months old, both on oxygen, and a pulse ox. One was getting eye surgery, and while waiting, the other started screaming to be fed. Mom was trying hard to make formula while digging through all their equipment, and was terribly embarrassed about the noise. I wanted to tell her not to worry; babies cry, and she should be greatful that she could hear hers.
I will always remember the smell of hospitals. The smell of disposable diapers (one of the little reasons we stick with cloth) mixed with sweat and blood and fear.
And though it pains me to put my kid through this again, to put me through this, it needs to be done.