Tuesday has been a day full of many feelings. Right now, I am sitting on the side of my daughter’s hospital bed, relieved that she is safely out of surgery. She’s woozy, and hasn’t truly woken up yet.
This morning went as smoothly as you would expect with two children who were not allowed to eat breakfast. That is, not very. Kate whinged her way through; M out-and-out melted down. Offering Gatorade did not stave off the whineys.
We got ready to leave around 9 a.m. I figured the hospital would be enough of a distraction from their bellies. The children got in the car, and Dan and I grabbed the bags.
Coming out to the car, M met me in the driveway. “Can I have gum?” he asked.
“No,” I said, then realized that I had gum in the car. Shit! What if he already had some, or Kate did?
I rushed to the car. “Kate, you didn’t have any gum, did you?”
“It’s not gum,” she said. “And Michael ate it all.”
M had gotten into mints I didn’t even know I had in my car, and had, indeed, eaten them all.
Well, shit again.
Realizing that there was nothing to do but find out what the docs would do when we got to the hospital, we stopped to vote (it was primary day here in Pennsylvania), and made our way to the hospital.
The children’s hospital we have in Pittsburgh is efficient. It really keeps things moving. Before I knew it, we were in a room ready to do surgery prep and paperwork.
I told them about M and the mints. As I had expected would happen, they took him off the list for surgery. His nickname for the day was miscreant.
I have to admit to being furious with M. I had gone through a lot of trouble to arrange things ‘just so’. My parents are in to help keep Flora’s day/week on track. I got Kate and M scheduled for the same day. I took unpaid time off my job.
And M, by virtue of being 3, and hungry, and not understanding why he couldn’t eat, threw a big giant flipping monkey wrench into the works.
I was *mad*.
Fortunately, everyone else was very understanding. It’s something that does happen. And, fortunately for my little miscreant, the doctor can fit him in tomorrow for tubes and adenoids.
Anyway, Dan suited up, Kate changed into scrubs, and they walked off to surgery. M and I went to the waiting room, and Dan joined us shortly.
“I got a little emotional in there,” he said.
“Did Kate see?” I asked.
“I kept it together,” Dan assured me.
I posted some things to Facebook and Twitter, let M eat, made arrangements to get him home (thank you, again, nonna and pap-pap), and waited. When I noticed the doctor approaching, I jumped up.
He was all smiles, very pleasant and reassuring. Kate had come through surgery fine. Her adenoids were blocking the eustachain tubes, which affected both her hearing and breathing. Her tonsils were nearly a four (on a scale that goes to four). She was waking up in the recovery room, and we’d be able to see her soon.
Dan went back first when Kate woke up. I got M and his carseat to my parents, and hurried back to see my baby girl.
Seeing her still woozy from the anaesthesia was heartbreaking. I was teary-eyed with relief though. Just seeing her so vulnerable, but on the other side of surgery — the safe side. It was overwhelmingly relieving.
Now, after reading her a new book, and letting her fall back to sleep, it’s a waiting game to see how she does with hydration and diet. Tomorrow will bring new challenges, logistical and emotional.
I am so glad Dan has been with us the whole time too. Feeling like a team, united in having all the emotions, and supporting each other through this. It’s kept me even-keeled. I hope he feels the same way.
Would you have told the doctors about M eating the candy mints? It didn’t cross my mind not to.