There are three dates tattooed onto my heart, July 5th and October 1st of 2007 and soon-to-be July 23, 2009. This list of dates, hardly random, represents the place and time a sweet, undeserving boy named Isaac had to have surgery. I'd love to say that each surgery gets easier, but that myth lives far, far from truth. Life and logic teach us to believe and expect for things to get easier with practice, but watching your child experience surgery is not one of these.
The first surgery, with lots of bitter-sweet, was greatly anticipated and dreaded at the same time. Even though the immediate, tangible benefits of the lip repair were exciting, they made a rather poor anecdote for the many concerns of surgery on an infant. So many questions; so many unknowns.
Since Isaac's first surgery was the day after the fourth of July, I happily spent the day before playing outside with the family instead of packing for the hospital--a somewhat regretful decision I wouldn't recommend. Later that night, I remember capturing some of the cutest pictures of Isaac--his blue eyes dancing with a face FULL of smiles. I knew that after surgery Isaac would never look the same again, and the biggest phase in his life, up to that point, was coming to an end. Despite all that surgery number one entailed, it was still a hopeful day of new beginnings for Isaac and good-bye to the cleft he was born with.
The journey to the hospital started around four o'clock in the morning. Our two hour, mostly peaceful drive to Atlanta could only have been a gift from God above. Pedialite, then acceptable four hours before surgery, and his wub-a-nub kept him soothed during the car ride.
Approximately 30-45 minutes after signing in, we were called back to pre-op. All of my focus during travel-time, lobby-time, and pre-op time was centered on keeping Isaac calm and peaceful. I did not want to see him get upset and not be able to feed him. Between the medicine given during pre-op and lots of God's grace, Isaac stayed calm before surgery. He was, however, completely unimpressed with the hospital gown; apparently, those rascals are indignant at any age! At last, the nurse came to take Isaac. I remember that he liked her voice and was surprised and thankful to hand her a happy Isaac. Following her through the pre-op area, I knew our paths would quickly split. Her destination, a sterile operating room hidden behind big, heavy doors, ours an anxious waiting room and a call from the doctor that couldn’t come soon enough. Friends and the freshly baked cookies they brought were a great distraction.
The check-in coordinator notified us when surgery was over and we talked to the surgeon on the phone from the waiting room. Finally, I was on my way to the hospital room to get my Isaac back. Not even the tall, lanky legs of an NBA player could have kept up with me. We met him in the hallway as they were wheeling him into his room. His little sleeping body was swallowed by the giant hospital gurney. I couldn’t help looking at him and touching his little for-head right there in the hallway. He was still my Isaac and yet so different at the same time. The relief of having him back was very short lived due to what I know now as “anesthesia melt-down.” Children can be very violent and agitated when they are coming out of anesthesia. Isaac was certainly one of these. Even though I had heard of the melt-down, nothing could have prepared me for what happened next. The nurses barely propped pillows on my arm and placed him in my arms before he started a terrible fit of crying. Because he had a fresh scar on his lip that had to be protected and not touched, Isaac wore soft splints velcroed around his arms. This prevented him from bending his arms so his little hands couldn’t damage his surgery and made holding him horribly awkward. My first instinct to hold him close and snuggle him was not an option because his mouth couldn’t rub against me. Regardless of being able to hold him or not, there was nothing I could do to comfort him during the anesthesia meltdown, nothing. I felt so helpless during those intense minutes before he calmed down.
Thankfully, the minutes when Isaac was coming out from the anesthesia and the trauma of not being able to comfort or hold him passed, and I created a way to hold him close with his head propped on a pillow. I gladly paid the taxation it put on my back to have a safe and soothing way to hold him. He slept throughout the majority of our hospital stay. When he woke up fussy I didn’t hesitate to call the nurse for more pain medicine. It was a strange feeling to be that aggressive at calling the nurse to give my infant drugs when he was uncomfortable, but I’m certain it was the right thing to do.
I tried to give him formula, but he was not interested. The breast milk I brought to the hospital is something I would do differently. I should have given him all the banked breast milk before the surgery, when he actually cared to eat, because the pumped stuff I brought with us just went to waste. Eating after surgery time is touch-and-go at best.
In the midst of aftercare, I was amazed at Isaac’s new smile. He was still Isaac but he looked so different, I had to keep soaking it in. Looking back, I find myself more and more thankful for the wonderful pictures I have of him before his surgery. We celebrated his new smile with lots of pictures as well.
I could NOT function after surgery without my all-star, Mom. She comes and takes care of everyone else, and myself, while I take care of Isaac. Thanks to her, he can be my one and only focus. I can’t say enough about the support and comfort she brings to me. There’s nothing like having your mom with you in the middle of the night when things get tough. She also gives me a worry free place to leave my six-year-old daughter while we’re at the hospital. Imagining surgery time without her is an unbearable, most unthinkable thought! Thank God for a mom and husband to love me through!!
