Post-Surgery Reflections

I risk death by unforgivable curse as I write today, ducking imaginary flashes of Harry Potter magic from the children’s colored glow-stick wands, somehow left over from Halloween. My youngest bounds from the couch, lands with a practiced roll on the hardwood floor and runs screaming after his brother and sister, all memories of yesterday’s short surgery seemingly gone from his mind and body. I am not sure that I will recover so quickly, after watching him go under anesthesia for the second time and surviving his reawakening in the strange and unfamiliar surgery clinic.

Daniel’s surgeries (this was his second) have been a great blessing to him and to us. He had his tonsils and adenoids out two years ago, and that procedure allowed him to eat without risk of choking, sleep without terrible sleep apnea, and grow both physically and developmentally at unprecedented rates. His speech, however, remained hindered by months of ear infections and fluid-filled ear canals and so after a year of gathering data and searching for alternate solutions his amazing pediatrician and ENT doctor decided, with us, to place tubes in his ears. The decision was not made lightly, as surgery (no matter how short) is a big deal.

Watching his small body succumb to the anesthesia is like watching a small death, and I cried both times as his eyes circled wildly and closed, his arms and legs jerked and straightened, and his airway relaxed with odd gurgles and gasps that sounded terrible to me, despite the reassurances of the skilled anesthesiologist. My heart goes out to parents that have to witness serious surgeries on their children, lengthy procedures that put them under for long periods of time. It hurts to see your child stilled unnaturally, prone in hospital-issue pj’s, his little body barely raising the heated blankets.

It’s also challenging to walk back to recovery afterward and see the tear-streaked face watching you with a look of desperation, betrayal, and deep need. The stubborn bedrail temporarily prevents you from drawing your child immediately to your heart and somehow stopping their pain and confusion. I wrote in my journal yesterday to remember the feeling of my heart reaching out to my child, wanting to envelope him in love and strength. As you may have read in my earlier blogs, I am often challenged by the temperament, volume, and actions of my youngest and yesterday provided me with an opportunity to feel (from my toes to fingertips) how much I love him and want the best for him. We will hopefully avoid future surgeries, but I want to remember what it felt like to be apart for those painful minutes and how amazing was our reunion.