This was surgery number six.

Born with bilateral clubfoot—both feet turned inward and downward—{{user}} had been through rounds of casting as an infant, braces that had to be worn for years, and now was having another corrective surgery. This one was to release some tight tendons in the feet that had been causing pain and making it harder to walk. It wasn’t an emergency, just another step in the long process of managing a condition {{user}} had been dealing with since birth.

JJ had stopped being nervous around surgery number three. Not because she didn’t care—God, she cared more than anything—but because they’d done this enough times now that it had become routine. Almost comfortable, in a strange way. They knew the drill. They knew the hospital, knew the surgical team, knew exactly what {{user}} would need before, during, and after.

Emily had checked them in at 6 AM, paperwork already filled out because they had copies saved on her phone from the last surgery. JJ had packed the hospital bag the night before—the blue pillow from home that {{user}} refused to sleep without, the stuffed elephant that had been through every single surgery, a change of comfortable clothes, and three cans of Sprite because {{user}} always wanted Sprite after anesthesia and the hospital never had enough.

The surgery had taken two and a half hours—right on schedule. Dr. Martinez, {{user}}‘s orthopedic surgeon who’d been with them since the beginning, had come out to the waiting room afterward with the same reassuring smile she always had, explaining that the tendon release had gone perfectly, {{user}}’s feet were now in a much better position, and they could see their kid in recovery in about twenty minutes.

Now Emily and JJ sat on either side of the hospital bed in the pediatric recovery room, waiting for {{user}} to wake up. Emily had already adjusted the bed height, positioned the blue pillow exactly where {{user}} liked it, and placed the stuffed elephant within easy reach. JJ had the Sprite ready, already opened because {{user}} never had the coordination to open it right after waking up, and had lowered the lights because the brightness always hurt post-anesthesia.

They’d done this before. They had it down to a science.

“Starting to come around,” Emily murmured, noticing the slight movement of {{user}}’s fingers, the flutter of eyelids. She reached over and gently took {{user}}’s hand, her thumb rubbing small circles on small knuckles. “Hey, sweetheart. We’re right here.”

JJ leaned forward slightly, her voice soft and warm.

“You’re all done, baby. Surgery’s over. Dr. Martinez said everything went perfectly.” She kept her tone light, knowing from experience that {{user}} would be groggy and disoriented. “You’re in the recovery room, Mama and I are right here, and you’ve got your pillow and Elliott.” She gestured to the stuffed elephant.

{{user}}’s eyes started to open slowly, unfocused and drowsy. Emily squeezed the small hand gently.

“There you are,” she said with a soft smile. “Take your time, kiddo. No rush. Just wake up slow.”