"It is health that is real wealth and not pieces of gold and silver."

"It is health that is real wealth and not pieces of gold and silver."

~Mohandas K Gandhi

Wednesday, January 5, 2011


The boy (and I) did fine.  He was quite annoyed to find out he couldn't have his usual juice, or even water, this morning as soon as he got up, and was a bit whiney about that.  But otherwise he was in an okay mood- he watched a couple of shows and played while my husband and I got ready.  We were driving in seperate cars because D had to go to work as soon as the boy was discharged. 

Things went very smoothly.  A couple of the nurses remembered him from our tour the other day and greeted him by name, which was VERY nice- I could see by how he held his shoulders that the fact that these people knew him relaxed him a bit.  He had four of his stuffed animals (his "buddies") with him, and showed them off to everyone.  He also informed more than one nurse that Chick, his, well, baby chicken, was very nervous about today and did NOT want to breathe in the "sleepy air".  That was the biggest thing from the tour that bothered him.  He screams bloody murder on the rare occasions we have to use a nebulizer with him, so I'm not overly shocked by this. 

We got him out of his shirt and into the hospital shirt without incident, and I robed up as well, over my street clothes, since I was going into the OR with him.  When it was time, he picked up his buddies and began walking with the nurse, while I followed behind them, talking to Dr G.  Little Man was so involved in his conversation, he forgot he'd asked me to carry him into the OR, and walked himself.  When we got to the room, I said, "Oh, look!  It looks just like the room in the Curious George book!"  No lie, it really did. 

That's when he started to fall apart.  Still clinging to his buddies, he shrank back against me.  "I don't want to lie on the table!"  I tried to get him up there, but, even though he's only four, he's quite strong, and I couldn't.  We ended up with him on my lap, me holding him, Dr G holding his head, and a nurse holding his legs so he couldn't kick us while the anesthesiologist held the mask to Little Man's face.  His blood-curdling screams eventually faded to moans, then whimpers, and then trailed off, while his eyes rolled up towards the back of his head...and didn't close, which freaked me out.  We laid him down on the table.  "He's still moaning.  His eyes are open," I said. 

"Yes, that's okay.  It's normal," the anesthesiologist reassured me.  I gave Little Man a kiss, and Dr G gently escorted me out.  "You did a great job," he told me quietly.  "Just remember, all this is much harder on you than it is on him."

Fifteen minutes later, Dr G came to tell us it was done and everything was fine.  Little Man woke up quickly, ate and drank immediately, and was plenty alert and in no pain, so we were home by 10am.

I had been concerned I wasn't going to be able to go in with him, because I have a cold, and I look and sound like it, but no one said anything about me hacking up a lung and blowing my nose a lot.  I'm glad.  My husband is a great father, but there are some things I just think Mommy is supposed to do...and I'm better at than my husband is.  ;)  Apparently I do have a bit of Mommy in me, and can be a tough cookie when I have to be, which is nice to know, too.

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