I think the first reaction of every parent is to worry whenever you find out your child has to have surgery. You panic. You think about the worst case scenario. Then you tell yourself to calm down. You remind yourself they will be fine because they are in good hands and these surgeons do this all day, every day. And everyone else tells you these things too. But still, you're a parent, so you worry.
Yesterday all my worst fears and anxiety about how pre-op would go came true. But let me back up a moment and tell you how we got there.
A few months ago I started noticing something odd- and I am going to be vague here because, well, this is the internet, and someday my son will be a grown man and not want his mom posting all his health history on the world wide web- and so I asked Matt about it. He agreed and asked me to call the pediatrician. They saw us the next day and immediately referred us to see a pediatric general surgeon.
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| At the pediatrician's office, sitting and reading his book like such a big boy while we waited |
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| Coloring at Stanford Children's Medical Center |
The surgeon from Stanford Children's Medical Center advised us that it wasn't going to get better and would require surgery. We could choose to do the surgery at a local hospital 10 minutes from our home or at Lucille Packard Children's Hospital, which is in Palo Alto and can take over an hour to get to. For Andrew's comfort getting home, we chose Good Samaritan Hospital which was closer to us. We were finally given a date for the surgery and were told that the hospital would contact us on the Monday morning the week of the surgery and they would give us the time and info needed. That time came and went and on Tuesday afternoon I called them. It took me until Wednesday night to finally have a time scheduled for our Friday surgery. Then I was told that the anesthesiologist would call me by Thursday night to get our info and go over the rest of the information and pre-op instructions. Only he never called. (And from what I heard from the patient who came in after us, he never called them either.)
So we showed up on Friday morning, hoping for the best, but still worried and nervous. We went though our admin paperwork with a fumbling woman who couldn't figure out how to print anything, kept forgetting paperwork we needed to do, and spent more time chatting with the other nurses coming and going around her desk than with us. Apparently we were the third patient of the day but she couldn't find the second patient so she kept trying their cell because they were supposed to check in before us. When she couldn't contact them, she finished our paperwork and prepared to send us back. During all of this, the anesthesiologist (Dr. S) showed up and was cussing someone out on his phone, throwing the F-word around, while in the pediatric surgery area.
While the nurses started getting Andrew ready with his ID band, hospital gown, and confirmed paperwork, the second patient finally showed up and the nurses then started getting him ready at the same time. Even though the late patient had now pushed out Andrew's surgery by an hour Dr. S had the nurse go ahead and start Andrew's meds. We finally got Andrew to sleep and tucked in our arms, waiting for them to take him back. But then because the surgery ahead of ours was started so late, Andrew started waking up and was crying and panicking. Matt and I were doing our best to try to calm him down when Dr. S stormed back in and asked "what the hell" Andrew's problem was. The nurses tried to explain that he had already been asleep over 40 minutes and was waking up and we were doing the best we could. Dr. S then stormed back out and I finally got Andrew calmed down and back asleep. Minutes after Andrew fell asleep, Dr. S storms in again and with no warning he shoved a tube up Andrew's nose with more medicine, which woke him up in a panic again, making him scream and cry. And just like that, a nurse pulled him out of my arms and walked away with him. With my baby. Screaming and crying and with pure panic in his tone of voice. With no goodbye or kisses or snuggles. And I just stood there hearing him crying and screaming and panicking in the OR. And then they sent me out.
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We waited and we waited and we waited and finally a nurse told us he was out and someone would be there to get us. But still we waited and waited and waited. And then the surgeon stopped by and explained how everything went and again we heard that any minute someone would come get us, but still we waited and waited. Until finally someone came to let us know we could see him.
The nurse directed me to a chair and picked him up and put him in my arms and it was like we were in the NICU all over again. Only this time instead of a 5 lb baby, he was a 23 lb toddler. And this time I remembered every moment of it, where last time I was so sick on magnesium from pre-eclampsia that I hardly knew what was happening. But the monitors beeping, the tubes we had to juggle and negotiate to place him in my arms, the cold air conditioning, the sterile smell...it was all the same as the first time we met one another, my son and me. My little Baby B. And I just held him and snuggled him and tried to hold myself together. Because out of everything that went wrong that morning, this part went so right.
But then Dr. S came in to check on another patient and yelled at us, asking why we were still in recovery. The nurses bounced back and forth between Andrew and the other patient, severely short staffed, and finally found someone to wheel us out to the car. Apparently we were supposed to bring a stroller to take him out in...only one more thing no one ever told us. And any parent of twins never thinks to bring a stroller if they are only taking one child somewhere; that just seems silly. Getting in the car and driving away from that place felt sooooo good. I just wanted to be home and done with it all. And never go back.
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Everyone keeps saying that Andrew won't remember what happened that morning, and I know that's true, but I will. Forever I will remember the sound of panic and tears streaming down his face when my son was taken from my arms and carried away from me while I stood helpless. And while I am glad he probably won't remember, I can't help but be angry when people say that. I wanted him to be gently asleep. I wanted him to be kissed and snuggled and whisper goodbye for now. But that's not what happened. And while I am so, so thankful he won't have to deal with the trauma of how the morning went, I will. And so I can't help but be angry. But at the same time, I am so thankful it is over and he is healthy and the doctor did his job well.
We took Andrew home and I tucked him into our bed and I just held him close. I kissed him and watched him and listened to him snore. And I loved him fiercely. Later, I let him eat crackers in my bed and sip on water, and that night I couldn't have been happier to have crumbs tucked in every crease of my sheets.
Today he is doing well with his recovery. I am so thankful to have friends bringing us meals, dropping off get-well-soon gifts, and loving on our family through this tough time with prayer, texts, and messages. Thank you, thank you! We love and appreciate you all so much!
Getting Ready For Pre-Op:
In Recovery and Finally Home:
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| He insisted on sleeping with a cracker in his hand and he would occasionally stir, take a nibble, and fall back asleep |
