The day was finally here. After the trip, the fundraising, the loan….we are finally at the morning of the surgery!
We got up at the crack of dawn and I dragged my sleepy little boys to the surgery building. (Right? This hospital was so big, there was a separate building for surgeries. Insane!) They were would up pretty tight with nerves so, they were difficult to contain.
I went to registration and the clerk looked at me and said, “And do you have you payment with you?”
I almost died. I tried not to bite her head off, but I very firmly explained that we made all the payment on the phone yesterday. She disagreed with me because I had no receipt. I explained that my cell phone does not have printing technology quite yet. I suggested she call Dr. Marsh’s office manager. The clerk got huffy but eventually called over.
Shocker: we were fully paid.
They allowed us in and the boys started getting prepared for surgery.
The internal waiting room had a bubble machine. It was the exact same one the boys hung out with in Ann Arbor before their last surgery. I took the picture for nostalgia’s sake, but the comparison turned my stomach a little. I didn’t want this to be like last time…
Robert was combative because he was scared so, he was taken in first. Peter and I got to spend some quality time watching cartoons, taking selfies, and watching Peter start getting high as a kite when he was given some sedatives.
Right after Peter was taken back the nurse tried to mother me and insisted I go to the cafeteria and get something to eat. I resisted the urge to kick her in the shins, and briefly disappeared so she would be fully convinced I went to the cafeteria.
We had been on shaky terms with each other since the day before when she told me tongue surgery doesn’t hurt and I called her out on that. I’ve had tongue surgery. It hurts. She claimed that her 35 years of experience caring for patients trumped my actual pain. She knew better about whether or not I experienced pain during a surgery 11 years ago that she wasn’t present at. We had some words.
As soon as I hit the waiting room, I could hear Robert crying. So, I followed the howls to the recovery room. I told the nurse at the room my son was in there and I had been told to join them in recovery. (I was, promise.) She told me my son wasn’t in there.
Now, I have my moments of sheer stupidity, but I know what Robert’s cries sound like. I was quickly turning in to the Hulk’s mother and preparing to bust out a wall to get to him when the nurse came back, looking sheepish.
“You were right.”
I went in with Robert and he was super confused and sleepy. Despite the stitches and drainage, he looked good. He even asked for some water! It was such a different post-op look compared to last time.
He took a sip of water, and then fell dead asleep.
His recovery was working out so shockingly easy, I was really looking forward to seeing Peter. If crabby, difficult Robert was having an easy time, Peter would be a breeze!
You know, by this point in my life, you’d think I would know better than to have those thoughts.
As you may recall, Peter has a cast on his right arm right now from a soccer injury. A cast on a sedated, confused, scared little boy becomes a weapon. When Peter entered recovery, he was swinging that cast around like a club, making contact with anyone who was mistakenly in the line of fire. I got clubbed a few times when we were trying to calm him down and let him know he was okay. Eventually we were able to get no-no’s on his arms to protect us and Peter from damage and he settled in to an unhappy nap, too.
Since I am getting long-winded and the rest of surgery day gets ridiculous, we will continue this tomorrow…