My Son's Surgery Went Well!

Maria Fareri Children's Hospital

This is a longish post because I go into detail about what it was like for me to go through a surgical procedure with my child. So, if you ever wondered what it's like or what's involved, I'll try to describe waiting, how to explain surgery to a very young child, a very good thing to ask the anesthesiologist, separation anxiety, what it's like to watch a child go under anesthesia, what it's like to leave the OR without your child, and what it's like to watch a child come out of anesthesia.

Last night I had a terrible time trying to relax, thinking about my son's surgery today. Since I knew that my son wasn't going to be allowed to eat or drink anything from after midnight this morning until one o'clock this afternoon, I wanted him to stay up as late as possible and eat as late as possible. A new TGIF was opened nearby, so we went there for dinner. I had a Cosmopolitan, which helped me to relax a little. Mostly we just enjoyed each other's company.
I know that adenoid surgery is a very simple, routine surgery, but it is the anesthesia that always makes me nervous. Partly because something can always go wrong, even during routine surgery on a healthy child, and party because it's difficult to watch my son going through the process of anesthesia.

My son's surgery was scheduled for one this afternoon, and we had to be at the children's hospital by 11 am. When we got there, we had to register at admitting. I was very surprised and pleased at how easy this was. The doctor's office did a wonderful job of making sure that the hospital had all of our information, and all I had to do was show our insurance card and sign one paper. That was it. My son received his hospital bracelet. We have to register every time he needs any sort of blood work or x-rays at the hospital we go to in order to monitor his growth hormone levels and other endocrine system levels, so he has worn many hospital bracelets. For some reason, he loves having them on his ankle. Today was no exception. Although he couldn't say anything, he helpfully stuck out his leg so that the office person could put on his "anklet".

Then we waited and waited and waited in the ambulatory surgery waiting room. I'm very happy I brought a lot of toys for my son and daughter because there was not one single toy in the waiting room. I guess it's to prevent the spread of germs, but I still thought it was odd that there were no toys in the waiting room of a children's hospital. But, we were set anyway because I came prepared.

We were finally called in, and my son's vitals were taken. He likes the word thermometer, and we sing-say the word to get his temp taken. Then we call the blood pressure cuff a huggy balloon, and he allows them to use the balloon to hug his arm. Then they used the heart telephone to listen to his lub-dub beating heart. And then we waited some more.

It's important to me that I explain everything to my son before it happens, and I am always honest about what will or will not hurt so that he will trust me.

After a short time, we were called back into the recovery room to set up for surgery. First we met with the ENT doctor who explained the surgery to us again. Then the anesthesiologist came to discuss the anesthesia process with us. I requested that she dispense medication to my son prior to going into the OR to calm him down and cause amnesia for the event. She agreed. If you ever need to bring your child in for a surgical procedure, request that this medicine be dispensed to your child. It's extremely calming.

While we were waiting for the medicine, we got into our special pajamas. Mine was a jumpsuit. I was grateful once again that I lost weight because otherwise I wouldn't have fit into it. I dressed my son in a tiny hospital gown.

I told him the story again about how we're going to go into the room with the doctor where he's going to lay down and have a mask put on his face (we practiced with my hand). It will have cool air blowing like his nebulizer, and he'll feel very sleepy and take a very special nap. When he wakes up, Mommy will be there and he'll have a boo boo in his throat. This is the story I'd been telling him for the past two days.

Then he received his happy medicine. Very quickly he became very relaxed. He was waving to the nurses and saying hi, and we peeked through the door to Daddy, Grandma, and Baby Sister before it was time to go to the OR. My son became very fearful when we went into the OR...who wouldn't? Even though I've observed several surgeries and had two surgeries myself, it's still an overly bright room with a lot of unfamiliar people and things in it.

On the operating table was a child-shaped pillow filled with warm air for him to lay on. Instead of being comforting, this scared my son. The anesthesiologist said she was ready to administer the anesthesia, and I had to hold my son down in order for her to put the mask over his nose and mouth. As has happened on the prior two occasions he received this type of anesthesia (the first time they put in an IV...that was even more horrid. Usually they don't administer the IV until after the child is asleep, like here), he had a look of terror and horror on his face like he was being suffocated. He screamed and cried and thrashed about. I did the usual. I held him down very firmly while singing Elmo's Song to him. As he relaxed a little, I was able to stroke his hair and cheek. He continued to cry. It was heartbreaking. After what seemed like forever, he finally went under. This is good of course, but it is also horrible because he looked dead. This bothers me every single time.

And then it's time to leave my baby with all these people who are going to cut him and put tubes down this throat. I know they are helping him, but I still feel guilty for putting him through it. I kiss his sweet mouth, tell him how much I love him, and I leave, shaking and holding back tears. As I walk out the door, I turn to the surgeon and tell him to take good care of my baby.

I remove and discard my jumpsuit. The nurse gives me a beeper so that I can leave the waiting room and eat lunch, knowing that the second my son is out of surgery, I will be beeped. I join my husband and mother. We eat lunch, and we hardly finish eating when the beeper goes off only 40 minutes later. I leave my husband and mother to clean everything and take care of my daughter and rush to my son's side.

He's tiny on a huge hospital gurney. He has an oxygen mask over his face. It dwarfs his tiny features. He sleeps soundly. I am so happy to be reunited with my son, and I pull a chair close to his bedside and wait for him to stir. It takes some time, but he finally opens his eyes and sees his Mommy. He begins to cry. He thrashes. I climb into bed with him and hold him and rub him and sing to him. He tries to rip out his IV. I gently restrain him. When he calms down a little, I request that the nurse get his Daddy. My husband brings in our laptop computer with "Sing, Hoot, and Howl" playing on it. This is one of my son's favorite videos. It's a compilation of Sesame Street songs about animals. This calms him down a bit, but he still wants the IV out. We're supposed to get him to drink some water or take some ice pop before the IV is removed, but he won't. The nurse is very kind, and she removes the IV after an hour or so, and allows us to go out to the waiting room so that my son is among his toys and sister and grandmother and parents. He calms down much more, but we still can't get him to drink. I eventually use a syringe to squirt some water into his mouth. He becomes very upset. I tell the nurse I think his throat hurts too much, and she gives him some codeine. After a half hour or so, he drinks some water from a cup, and shortly afterwards, we're released. Almost as soon as we get into the car, he's absolutely fine and drinks an entire bottle of formula and a bottle of water. We stop on the way home to pick up his prescriptions, and by the time we get home, you'd never suspect that he'd done anything out of the ordinary that day, never mind have surgery...amazing.

So, he's sleeping soundly after having a normal, nice evening at home, and I'm very relieved that this ordeal is over.