I have been meaning to write this post for over a week now, but oh well. So, week before last, we had to take the J-dog for a little surgical procedure. We have known that he would need it since birth and it wasn't a major surgery (let's just say it involved his little boy parts), but it did require general anesthesia, which was of course our main concern. We waited until he was past 6 months so he would be strong and healthy for the anesthesia, but we didn't want to wait too long because we didn't want him to have any memory of it. We had been worrying about it since he was born, but I am very glad to say that it went off seamlessly and it's all behind us now.
We had it done at Co.rnell, which is funny because we opted against going for IF treatments there. But it is an excellent facility and we were very pleased. The only hitch was that they were running late (the father of the patient before us left their films at home and had to go back for them - loser!), and we had to with-hold food and water for 5 hours before the procedure was scheduled. So the J-dog was getting pretty hungry, but he did great and even had an hour long nap in the waiting room.
So, the title of this post comes from the decision as to which one of us would be the one to carry the J-dog into the operating room and be with him as they put him to sleep. I was really, really scared to do it, because I had this awful fear that he wasn't going to wake up from the anesthesia (there was a horrible story on our local news a few months back of a baby who went for a similar procedure at some hospital in the Br.onx and that happened to him - they gave him too much). Plus, I just get all queasy and fainty in hospital settings (although I have admittedly come a long, long way thanks to all my IVFs and also my c-section). J was more than willing to go in with him, in fact he assumed that I just wouldn't be able to handle it. But I knew that when it came down to it, the J-dog was going to want his mama there, and I needed to be the one to do it. So I sucked it up and put on the smurf suit and hat and shoes. The little guy was decked out in a tiny little hospital gown with clowns on it (scary!). I carried him back toward the operating room, we said goodbye to his dad at the end of the hall, and then proceeded down the long hallway. As we got close, I felt like I was going to faint. But I had my baby in my arms and knew that wasn't an option. When we entered the bright room, he was looking all around, curious about everything. He did not cry at all, even with all the funny people in green outfits with masks on. I kept talking to him in a cheery voice and then put him down on the tiny inflated warming blanket (shaped like a little gingerbread man to hold him in place on the full-sized operating table). Then they put the mask over his face and he started crying and struggling. I kept talking in his ear and telling him how good he was, and he quickly fell asleep. They let me lift my mask to kiss him tummy and then the nurse took me out. I walked out the door and could see J at the very end of the hall, looking at me through the window of the double doors. As I walked down the long hall, I could see his face and tell that he was crying, so I started to cry too. I came through the doors and we hugged so hard. I assured him that everything was fine, the J-dog had done great. He told me how proud he was of me for going in there with him, and I said I had to do it - I'm the mama bear and he's my little cub. I would do anything to protect him.
The wait seemed interminable, but after almost 2 hours the doctor came to find us in the waiting room and said that everything had gone great. We went up to recovery where we were told we could go immediately, so we would be there when he woke up, and he was already awake! The anesthesiologist said he had just woken up and was doing great. He wanted to be picked up and to eat right away, so I fed him right next to the bed with his little IV attached. The recovery room reminded me of those I'd been in after all my retrievals and J and I talked about how he would come in to sit by my side and wait for me to wake up. It was a strange circuit of events.
We brought him home soon after, and as soon as we got in the door he vomited everything he had eaten all over himself and the car seat. I stripped him out of his clothes, wrapped him in a plushy blanket and sat down with him in the glider in his nursery. He was very pale and obviously nauseated, so I held him and let him nurse a little more, and rocked him until he fell asleep. He slept in my arms for about 30 mins, and the whole time I just marveled at him and realized how lucky we were to have him, and how many other parents have to take their babies for surgeries and procedures that are not at all as benign. I just can't imagine how hard that must be.
After that initial bout of nausea, he was just fine. Recovery was very fast, he didn't even really seem to need his pain meds and he returned to his usual cheerful self the very next morning. I am a truly lucky mama bear with the best little cub in the world.
