The day before the surgery, the surgery center called to tell me this: no food after 10 pm and no nursing after 1:30. Now, if her ears hadn't been making her so uncomfortable this wouldn't have been a major issue. But for the week leading up to surgery she had been going to bed at 8, waking up at 11:30, 2, and 6. Then waking up for good around 8:30. Thankfully she is an awesome napper so we weren't really feeling exhausted from all the wakefulness.
But the night before surgery my mom came into town and helped me feed her a giant dinner in hopes of keeping her full. I put her to bed at 7:45 and she woke up at 10:30 to nurse. In hindsight I should have woken her up at 1:15 to nurse one last time but I was so concerned with her being well-rested I didn't think. Well, at 1:50 am she awoke. And I had to rock her and sooth her with no nursing. Obviously it was a major fail--I hope you could tell from the tone and all of the foreshadowing. I got approximately 2 hours and 50 minutes of sleep that night. We NEVER went back to bed. Texan got up and played with her for an hour while I tried to sleep, but I was too stressed from having to push her away from my "nursing zone." I cried. She cried. Then I gave up and took her into the living room and turned on the television. She was fine. Happy to be awake, even. I baked 36 cupcakes and a chocolate cake for her birthday the next day and by 4:30 she had fallen asleep in my arms in front of the morning news. Of course, by this point we needed to be waking up at 5 to leave at 5:30 for the hospital. So all I could do was clean up my kitchen and get dressed. Texan had gone back to bed around 4 because there was no sense in both of us being utterly exhausted that day.
When we got to the surgery center at 6:15 we were checked into our room and told that our surgery was scheduled for 9:30. Three hours of waiting, no nursing, was what we must endure. But at least there was cable and Starbucks for me and a wagon and toys for Scarlett. She was so tired but in great spirits for such a starving, sleep-deprived girl. She looked so tiny yet so grow-up in her hospital gown on the gurney. We took turns walking her around the halls in the wagon. My mom did most of the walking since she had a blissful 9 hours of sleep. At one point Kyle came into the room with Scarlett on his arm and started rummaging through the cabinets asking, "Isn't there a girly-looking hospital gown in here?" And I knew exactly why he was asking. "Did someone call her a boy while you 2 were in the hallway?" His reply was so classic, pouty and angry, "Some guy nurse said, 'we'll get to you soon, little buddy.'" I laughed pretty hard. Poor Scarlett. We had to take her earrings out when they checked her in. Poor Texan.
The time finally came for surgery and the nurse came in to take her. As she wheeled her away on her miniature hospital bed I watched the back of Scarlett's head. Her face was so curious. Alert. Not at all bewildered or concerned. She looked so brave. Tiny. Texan took the opportunity to go to the bathroom and I sobbed for about 10 seconds on my mom's shoulder before getting it together. Within 10 minutes her doctor came in and said she had done great and that she was in recovery. "Those ears were REALLY bad," he said. "I don't know how she has been feeling lately, but they were awful." I felt so guilty. Waiting for her to come back wasn't so bad because it felt like nothing compared to the night of waiting, crying, and baking I had endured. But once I heard her cry down the hall I bolted to the doorway only to see a nurse wheeling her back to the room on her gurney. But this time Scarlett didn't sit up straight looking brave like before. The nurse was hunched over the bed with her arm encircling Scarlett's waist. And Scarlett was on her knees, her left thumb in her mouth, her right Arm around the nurse's neck and dried blood covering her left ear. And she was crying a broken, weak cry. More like bursts of tired sadness. Later Texan would tell me, "that broke my heart to see her crying on that bed. That's my baby girl and my heart broke."
The nurse was very serious and instructed us to move a rocking chair close to the left side of the bed so I could pick her up without her falling from my arms. She told us that Scarlett had no control over her movements and could very easily flop around and fall. But Scarlett laid perfectly still in my arms and I nursed her. Finally.
Her pulse monitor told the story of a mother and baby's bond. On the bed her pulse was rapid. The beeping was deafening. As she nursed and curved to my body under a warm white hospital blanket we heard her pulse drop and drop and finally regulate. I loved that my warmth and milk were able to put her at peace.
Soon she fell fast asleep. She nursed for 15 minutes, sat up, and wanted to play. So we got the thumbs up to go home. The surgeon had given her a large dose of Tylenol and a narcotic, so that paired with her sleepless night sent her into a 5-hour nap at home. After which, she was ravenous and just as sweet as could be. I was so grateful to have my mom and Texan both there. And most of all, I am grateful for the prayers of friends and family which were answered for my sweet baby Jane. 
Grammy's girl
Grammy's girl
Getting measured and checked in.
Daddy helping out.
In our room
Sweet baby on her mini hospital bed with Santa. 
Santa got to go in the operating room too! For those of you who don't know, I have had this Santa doll since we got married and I get him out every year with my decorations. But this year I kept catching Scarlett carrying him around under one arm and if I would hand him to her she would give him a great big hug. So, yes, Santa will be staying around for a while and not going back in the attic. Her gown was purple with orange, black, and white cats all over. She also got a fluffy pair of white socks and a blanket, which we brought home with us.