The dreaded day is over and all is well! Thank heavens! Here’s the play-by-play for those curious:
Thursday
4:45 a.m.
I crawl out of bed and drag myself into the shower to prepare for the day. Ugh.
5 a.m.
I wake the munchkin, and help him pick out a “friend” to accompany him to the hospital for his journey. It’s Bob the Dog, an adorable Dalmatian and his turn-to-stuffy for anything remotely traumatic. (Getting his tonsils out definitely qualifies.)
5:20 a.m.
We pile in the car, with me driving. (Stress and early mornings don’t make for coherent driving from the hubby.) And the journey to the hospital begins.
6 a.m.
We arrive at the hospital, spend 10 minutes trying to find the entrance. (It’s harder than you might think.) And make our way to the reception desk, where we’re greeted by a friendly receptionist who checks us in and sends us to Ambulatory Surgery. We check in there, and they usher us into a communal room, where another family is already awaiting their turn in surgery.
We make our way to last bed in the room, turn on some cartoons and begin the wait. The nurse comes in and talks with us and with the munchkin to prepare for the day’s events.
6:40 a.m.
Next, is a visit from the anesthesiologist, who explains the process:
- Give the munchkin an oral sedative, which should calm him down and make him very happy.
- Take him into surgery and apply the face mask, which puts him to sleep.
- Insert the IV.
- Perform the surgery, which should last no more than an hour.
- Move into recovery, which should take about 45 minutes.
- Return to this room until he’s fully out of the anesthesia, can eat something and walk on his own.
- Go home and begin the recovery process.
Sounds simple enough, right?
7:05 a.m.
The nurse returns with the sedative. Unfortunately, due to the lovely taste, half of it ends up on the bed. Great. Next, she dumps a bag full of lipgloss onto the bed. “Pick one,” she instructs the munchkin.
Huh?!?
After several minutes of smelling, it’s settled. Kiwi. O-kaaay. What are we doing with this exactly? It’s rubbed on the inside of the mask that will deliver the gas to put him to sleep to make it smell yummy. =)
7:25 a.m.
By the time they come to wheel him into surgery, there really is little effect on his agitated state – since half of the medicine ended up on the bed.
He begins to cry. *Sigh.*
7:40 a.m.
The nurses, the hubby and I try to calm him down. We talk about Bob the Dog, and ask if he, too, is going to get his tonsils out. We wonder what he’ll think of the whole process, etc. A bit more at ease, off he goes. The hubby and I turn to one another, and know that all we can do now is wait and pray. With heavy hearts, we head off to the waiting room, where we’re greeted by a cheerful volunteer and shown the status screen that indicates the progress of the surgery.
And we wait. And wait. And…yes, wait. Luckily, they had coffee. Granted, it wasn’t Dunkin’ Donuts, but it worked.
8:50 a.m.
The wait is finally over. The doctor comes into the waiting room to tell us that all went well. Yippee!!! He says there was very little bleeding, which is good, but that the adenoids were squishy. O-kaaay. Evidently, this is a sign that he’s had chronic infections, which may have never truly gone away. With the tonsils and adenoids now out, it’s all about the recovery. The doctor explains that we’ll probably be waiting another 30 minutes or so, and then they’ll call us back to the original room in which we started to be reunited with the munchkin.
9:05 a.m.
No more than five minutes after the doctor left, “Mom” is called into the recovery room. Evidently, the munchkin was asking for me and was extremely upset I wasn’t there the instant he awoke. The nurses had explained that children typically are so out of it when they emerge from the anesthesia that they don’t know the nurse from Mom, and the nurse serves the purpose just fine until they’re moved back into their normal room.
Right. Not the case with my little munchkin. So, I don the “bunny suit,” so named because its big, white and covers all of you like a jumpsuit (yes, you look like a giant bunny when all is said and done), and add the accompanying blue hair hat to complete the outfit. Lovely.
I head into recovery and the munchkin is crying uncontrollably. As soon as he sees me, he starts crying harder. Mom’s here, now I can really lose it, he’s probably thinking.
The nurses explain that he just refused to calm down for them. He knew they weren’t his mom, and he wanted me – no one else. Okay then. Smart cookie. After talking soothingly, explaining how proud I am of him and telling him it’s all over now, he finally begins to calm down.
After a cursory search, I don’t see Bob anywhere; so I ask the nurse if she knows if his stuffed animal is still hanging around somewhere. She said, “Oh yes. Bob’s here somewhere.” I kind of glance at her funny because she said, “Yep. We all know that’s his name and it was important that he stay right by his side.” What a nutball that munchkin is.
We found Bob hiding under the covers, safe and sound. Good job, Bob.
About 30 minutes later, after a breathing treatment, some more pain medication and lots of blood pressure checks, we’re ready to leave recovery.
9:40 a.m.
We meet Daddy back in the room. Now, it’s a matter of waiting until he’s awake enough to eat something, determining his pain level and then making sure he can walk on his own. So, we wait.
And wait.
And wait some more. (Seems to be a reoccurring theme, huh?)
10:30 a.m.
The nurse brings in some popsicles: one red and one grape, as well as some water. The munchkin’s definitely ready to eat something. He starts with the red, decides that isn’t quite to his liking and immediately switches to the grape. Yummy! He downs it in 15 minutes. Pretty fast considering they just cut out organs and burned the holes back together. Nice. He’s still kind of out of it though.
11 a.m.
I’m starving! With only a donut and some coffee to tide me over since 4:45 a.m., I’m in need of some food. So, the munchkin’s in the process of eating his third popsicle; so I head down to the cafeteria to see what I can scrounge up for a quick meal.
I walk back in the room 15 minutes later with my cheeseburger and french fries, and proceed to try to hide my food as I’m eating. No good. The munchkin spies the food and immediately demands a french fry for himself.
Yep. I knew it! The doctor and nurses kept talking about how we shouldn’t worry when he refused to eat anything for several days after the surgery and wanted only liquids, if anything. They said, “That’s perfectly normal; so don’t worry.” I’m thinking to myself, this kid has had a sore throat most of his life. Eating with one, is not a big deal, and boy was I right! More to come on that in my next post.
12:30 p.m.
The nurse comes in to get him up and walk around. He does well, and she announces that as soon as he’s ready, we can leave. Of course, at this point, there’s a “good show” on the TV, and he’s content to lounge, take in the show and chow down on his popsicles.
1 p.m.
We finally convince him to get his own PJs back on, and we’re ready to go. He now has his choice of riding to the doors in the standard wheelchair or a cool red wagon. Of course, he selects the posh red wagon, proceeds to grab his pillow and lay down in it.
1:45 p.m.
We arrive home. Thank goodness! The munchkin’s lounging on the couch, listening to some tunes.
Now the recovery process begins.
Thank you all so much for all your well-wishes and prayers during this whole process. It was extremely appreciated! I’ll post more soon.
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So far as long as I’ve been drinking coffee, I’ve been a Dunkin’ Donuts coffee person. Everyone knows this. It’s something I pride myself on. After all, why pay more for a cup of coffee at Starbucks when you can get one that’s better at Dunkin’ for less?
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Common Grounds 