Well, its done. The teeny tiny tubes have been inserted into his ears and he is just fine.
Praise the Lord. And all my fears were for nought.
Except that we were late in arriving at the hospital. Because we live a million miles from anywhere near town we underestimated morning traffic and got a tad delayed on the freeway. With my heart pounding I slung the backpack onto my back and hoisted the Boy onto my (well padded) hip and set off half running, half limping across the car park leaving the Husband to lock the car and catch up with me.
"Run, Mommy, run," the Boy giggled and cheered as I navigated the hospital maze corridors with him clutching my neck and jiggling on my side. "A7, A7..."I kept muttering, "ah, A7 - Day Surgery Ward".
Woohoo, we arrived! To my pleasant surprise the ward was not very full and really nice. An airy light reception desk welcomed us as I dumped the Boy to the ground and got on with checking him in. He bee-lined for a gigantic plush giraffe who held the duty of keeping a beady eye on the toilets. While Dad helped the Boy scale the giraffe's legs and clamber onto his back I took care of the admin. The sister sent me to another reception desk several corridors away to get his info put onto the hospital data base. I waited my turn while the lady worked through her pile of files that were already stacked up.
While I waited I got to observe some of the staff starting their day at this world renowned children's hospital. Young interns and students with white coats and id cards strung round their necks drifted into work, some chatting to each other, discussing which wards they were going to be in that day, others just gliding in and glancing at us waiting on our plastic fold up seats.
Strangely none of them displayed much Greys or Private Practice glamour. No Drs Sam Bennet or Addison Montgomery brooding drama here. I suppose they have more important things to do. (Yes, its safe to diagnose me as a GA and PP junkie).
I finally get my file back and shoot back to A7 to find the Boy playing hopscotch on the play area floor. And very happy to see me.
I get to take him into the ward and he is assigned a cot/bed with rails. Till now his mood has been fine. The blue back-less gown freaks him out and he starts crying and wants to leave. Papa must come fetch him. Only one parent is allowed in the ward with a child and I was that parent. Dad checks in through the glass every so often to see how things are with us.
I eventually try distract him with puzzles and books and he sort of settles down but still with the occasional bout of crying. The doctors come round to each patient. There are about 6 children in for operations this morning. Luke is fourth in line. Not too bad.
The doctors are very nice and have a good sense of humor and try get the kids to loosen up. The one doc tells the Boy he doesn't have to wear the wretched blue gown if he doesn't want to. The Boy is not too forth-coming with his thanks. We take the gown off, but he still fidgets with his plastic identity arm band.
The other little patients include a blond little toddler about 10 months old, I thought it was a little girl at first with the blond curls and yellow Baby Gro but the mommy called the child Ethan so I must have got it wrong. He was squealing with delight as he played "Lets Throw Myself Off The Table and See If Mommy Catches Me". Luckily she did.
Next was a little coloured girl with light hair pulled into pig tails. Her mom must have been tense too as she kept on skelling the child when she did anything unpleasing.
The next little girl must be nearly 2, a feisty little thing with her hair teased into multiple little pig tails held together with bright yellow and pink hair bands all over her head. She wanted nothing to do with anyone and she kept screaming and hitting her poor mom, whom came into the hospital beautifully groomed but by the time she left she was a tad dishevelled. She had to take her necklace off and try keep her composure. After a particularly volatile bout of screaming and flailing of arms I'm sure I heard her muttering "Ek gaan you bliksem..!" Mom, we all know that point of exasperation.
Another little boy in the bed next to the Boy was also none too happy to be there and he also started crying, I think he was maybe about 4 and a half.
The last patient was a young boy who was brought in by his mom with a young baby. My hat is off to her, to be able to handle a young baby while still trying to support your other child through their difficult experience like this. But he seemed very good and not playing up like the other kids. The baby was good too. She needs to bottle her secret.
The nurses start dishing out pre-op meds to relax and calm the children before they are taken to theatre. Little Ethan is first and before I know it he has fallen asleep in his mom's arms and he is ready to go.
Miss Light Hair is also calm and falls asleep easily.
Little Miss Feisty Pig Tails is still having none of it and still gives her mom a royal hard time despite the sedative. I offer her one of our story books and she quietens down to read it. She grows drowsy and its her turn to go off to theatre.
The Boy on drugs is quite a giggle. He gets all goofy and everything is so funny, hilarious. We read his book and he is looking at me with those heavy Jack Nicholson eyelids and he laughing and snickering at the pictures. "Look, Mommy, look at da beach!" But he slurs it like he is drunk. The nurses share my laughs as he tries to sit up and fails completely and shouts "Whoa! Whooooa!" as he is trying to get his balance.
The theatre sister escorts us to the waiting room and I get to don a super flattering hair net and big green slippers and my own back-less gown. I get to keep my clothes on. This is of course another great source of amusement to the Boy.
The theatre is ready and the doctors come to fetch us. The Boy is still fighting the gown and the nice tall doc takes it off for him. I pick him up and carry him to the theatre bed. The paper covering crackles as I gently set the Boy down. The doc shows him the little blinky light on the end of a wire and asks the Boy to help him put it on his little thumb. Then he gets The Boy to assist him in attaching the chest stickers to his chest. He is quite co-operative and is having a good look at all the lights and machines. I am quite impressed at how light and spacious the theatre is. The staff is great and really respectful. The lady doc asks if they may insert a suppository for pain. (For the Boy, not me, phew). A nurse verifies that I am the Boy's mom, she confirms his date of birth and if the signature on the consent form is indeed mine.
The lady doc shows the Boy the gas mask and asks him to smell the strawberries. He breaths in the sweet gas and his eyes grow heavy, he leans against the doc and we gently lower him into a horizontal position. He looks so vulnerable lying there wearing nothing but his little red underpants. The doc takes away the mask for a moment, "Want a kiss?" she asks me and I plant a light kiss on his cheek. I back out of the theatre before I tear up and am escorted to the waiting room to remove my hair net, gown and slippers. Time to get comfortable and wait. But not for too long.
The other children who went in before him are coming out and recovering. They all seemed to have had their adenoids removed too and they have bloody noses, poor things. They come round and cry and cry. Not necessarily from pain, probably just from the feeling of disorientation, they settle down and moms are finally able to give them bottles with juice or water or a packet of crisps.
Little Miss Feisty Pig Tails still has her drip port in her hand and I wasn't sure why they kept it in. She was screaming "Eina! Eina!" while trying to pull it out. Her mom was fussing and screeching at her to leave it alone "Los dit!" and swiping at her free hand. The nurses taped it up for her. I'm still not sure why they left it in.
The Boy was finally wheeled out to me, also moaning but not bleeding. He didn't want to lie down and was calling for his Papa to come hold him. Dad came in and cuddled him while I slipped out. He cried for me again and I went in and I dressed him and offered him some cold sweet apple juice. This consoled him and once he had it in his stomach he started coming round quickly. The sister said we can go home after we collected the medication from the pharmacy down the passage. Great! The Boy seems fully recovered, chatting full steam, climbing the giraffe again.
We head to the pharmacy and are greeted with a mass of like-minded people all waiting for their meds. Good grief.
The Boy has a packet of NikNaks he is chomping on.
The Darling Husband goes to enquire about how long the wait will be if we choose to stay. He is politely told "Three hours". Whaaaat?
Ok, we go back to A7 and request a written prescription to fill at our own local pharmacy.
Great, with that done we head back home again. The Boy falls asleep in his chair, no doubt ridding himself of the last anesthesia. He sleeps all the way home and for another 2 hours on his bed.
Still running on adrenalin, I slip to the shops, come home and make a pot of home-made chicken soup and brown bread rolls from scratch. Maniac.
Of course later I collapse into bed at 8pm, 5 seconds after I deposit the Boy back into bed.
I suspect I have caught the Darling Husband's cold too. Dammit.
The Boy Will Not Go To Sleep. Aaaargh! Too bad, the Husband needs to handle this and I roll back into bed. My pillow is my lover tonight, aah, how wonderful you are!
And with that, Part 3 is over.
We have a follow up appointment next month for another hearing test to check if the Boy's hearing has improved. Stay tuned.
On another note, I am finding being a parent is the greatest learning curve I have ever been on and not just in how to care for a child.
Its true that you can only really understand someone else's feelings if you have been through a similar experience.
Before this operation on the Boy I was always naturally sympathetic and supportive to any of my family and friend's whose kids were having ops etc but always kinda put it on the back burner of my mind and assumed everything will be fine, all will be fixed and taken care of, and it was.
But I never really understood the anxiety, however "small" the operation was, that the parents go through. Until now. And I am so thankful and appreciative of all the texts and emails and phone calls of support from my family and friends. You helped allay my fears and reassured me it would be all fine. I have yet another fresh appreciation for the awesome network of hearts that I am connected to.
Good grief, I go on like it was a brain operation! But be it a small op or a major one, one's imagination and fears can run away with you and can just freak you out. Thanks for understanding and empathizing with that. In turn I will be able to do the same for other anxious moms.
Now I need to go find a beeeg bottle of wine. Cheers.
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