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You have more say in the process than you might realize. Annie encouraged families to ask:

• Is parental presence allowed during induction, right up until anesthesia?
• Will a Child Life Specialist be there for prep, support, and distraction?
• Can my child bring a comfort item, like a lovey or a blanket, into pre-op?
• Do certain clothes have to come off before or after anesthesia, or can we work around sensory sensitivities?
• Do you have social stories, videos, or a pre-op tour to help my child know what to expect?

A simple trick that works even without hospital resources: search YouTube for pediatric surgery or pediatric EEG videos at any children's hospital. It gives your child a preview of what the experience will look and feel like, even if it isn't the exact hospital you're using.

Annie's approach centers on the senses: what will my child see, feel, and hear? Naming that ahead of time, paired with validating their fear ("it's okay to feel nervous, and I'm going to be right here"), helps children feel prepared instead of blindsided. It also opens the door to something bigger: teaching your child that they're allowed to ask questions, like "who are you?" or "why are you doing that?" That's the beginning of self-advocacy.

The goal is prevention through practice at home. Annie suggested asking your clinic for supplies they'd otherwise toss, like a spare rubber band tourniquet or a Q-tip that mimics an EEG lead, and let your child practice on a stuffed animal, a doll, or you. Turning it into playful, low-stakes rehearsal helps kids desensitize and builds a real sense of mastery. They start to feel like the expert, not just the patient.

Annie calls it a "medicine straw." Walk through every step in plain language: the rubber band, the cold wipe, the little pinch, no needle staying inside. Letting your child touch and examine the actual tubing (safely, of course) transforms something abstract and frightening into something concrete, and often genuinely fascinating.

Whether you're facing a longer admission or a short one, don't be afraid to ask for what would help:

• Your own pajamas, blankets, and pillow
• Sound-canceling headphones and fidgets
• A lower-light lamp instead of overhead fluorescents
• Music therapy, art therapy, or a hospital teacher for schoolwork
• Therapy dog visits
• Decorations for a special event your child might be missing at home

Yes. Child Life can often help build a schedule with you, working alongside nursing staff to map out when meds, meals, and therapies happen. Knowing what's coming next gives your child, and the whole care team, a sense of stability.

Annie keeps a running list organized by age group — 0 to 3, elementary, middle, and high school — along with titles specific to disabilities, hospitalization, illness, inclusion, and grief.

Annie recommends one-on-one conversations, simple and honest language, and choosing a moment when you feel emotionally calm and ready, since your child's questions may be hard ones. Books can help you find the words and can invite your child to ask what's really on their mind.

When the worry turns to "what if it happens again," Annie suggests grounding the conversation in what you're doing right now: taking care of your health, going to your appointments, doing everything you can.

This is one of the most common questions Annie hears. A couple ways to help:

• Protect 15 minutes of undivided one-on-one time, set with a timer so your child knows exactly what to expect and when it will end.
• Invite them to "help" with baby-related tasks, like mixing a bottle, pouring, or wiping something down, and praise their role as a helper.

Watch behavior as communication. Withdrawal, acting out, or pulling away from a sibling can be a sign of feeling lonely, worried, or overlooked, and it's worth opening a gentle conversation about it or weaving them into family time in small ways.

If something feels different for extended periods, your child may need to talk to someone else to help them process what they’re feeling.

This one comes with a surprisingly fun strategy: start incrementally small. Begin with a tiny sprinkle, then move up in size — Jimmies, a Nerds candy, a mini Rice Krispie, mini M&Ms — only advancing once your child succeeds at the current size. Pairing it with a preferred drink and keeping sessions short (about five minutes to decrease frustration) turns a stressful task into a string of small wins.

Annie's guidance here is rooted in the principle of simple, honest language, without placing blame. Something like: "There was an injury to your brain. Everyone, mom, dad, your doctors, your nurses, did everything they could to help you and to make sure you got the oxygen and medicine you needed."

That framing protects your child's long-term trust in their medical team, and it makes room for the bigger truth that everybody has things that come easily to them and things that don't. Validating feelings of frustration or loneliness, without rushing to fix them, goes a long way. Sometimes kids just need to be mad, and to know that's allowed.

Give your child real, viable choices whenever you can, like "do you want mom or me to hold your hand?" and encourage them to answer the doctor or teacher directly instead of speaking for them. Practicing tricky conversations at home first, in a low-pressure way, builds the confidence to have them out in the world.