Once we had heard that G was going to have surgery, we spent the next few months planning, researching and basically trying not to worry. His surgery was originally scheduled for June 29, so in the meantime, he went to quite a few doctor's appointments to prepare for the surgery. This included a sedated echocardiogram on June 7, 2012 so that they could get a very good idea of exactly what they were looking for and repairing and a variety of other tests. The sedated ECG was quite a feat in itself, but we had an amazing nurse taking care of us at the Cardiology Unit at Children's Hospital Boston. She let us know everything that could possibly happen, including the fact that he may or may not spit up right after they administered the meds to sedate him. Sure enough, he passes out in my arms and as we're walking to the exam room, he starts choking and I panic. We rushed him to the exam room and the nurse adeptly rolls him onto his side and clears out his airway. This is only the first of many times in the next few months that my heart skips a beat.
Once all the tests are completed, we just sit and wait for the date of his surgery to arrive. And, wouldn't you know it, the time turns out to be crazy, crazy, crazy. Just a few days before he's supposed to be admitted, G comes down with a mysterious rash and fever. I spend the next few days talking to the cardiology nurses in Boston, debating on whether or not it's safe for him to undergo surgery and in the end, they decide to push him off until the end of July. To add to the chaos, we had put out a call for people to donate blood for G's surgery. Because he was going to need to use a heart-lung machine, we requested donations to prime the machine with known blood instead of blood from the general public. People were gracious enough to line up, some even driving an HOUR just to donate, only to end up not being able to use the blood because his surgery was delayed. At this point, I just sit and cry. I want this over and done, with our little boy safe and sound on the other side. I pray that God knows what He's doing and to just keep our boy safe.
When July 30 finally rolls around, we spend the day at the hospital undergoing pre-op surgery tests. It's a crazy, hectic day but G does great. We're put into the Cardio surgery rotation which means we end up seeing the same two other children and their parents all day. There is one couple, a young husband and wife, with a baby girl younger than G and another couple with a boy who we later find out is just over six years old. There is some solace in the fact that we're not alone and I find that I want to talk to these people, ask them their story and compare notes to assure each other that we're all going to have healthy, happy kids after this. At the end of the day, we take G back to my Gram's house and prepare for the next day.
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| The night before surgery, all smiles! |
On the morning of July 31, 2012, we quickly dress and get to the hospital before G can realize he's hungry. He hasn't been allowed any food or liquid since midnight and luckily, he's not a big breakfast eater so we're able to put him off eating. TDH Man and I check G into the surgical unit and the waiting begins. Elmo is on...
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| Elmo likes music, G likes Elmo... |
Once we fill out all the paperwork, they call his name and we're escorted to the surgical unit with the two other couples that attended the pre-op round with us and their kids. We get G settled in his bed and he's quickly turning around and showing his 22-month old opinions. Numerous doctors stop by and introduce themselves, ask questions and start to administer the sedation meds to get him to relax before they put in his IV. I start to shake. I realize that they're going to open my little boy's chest and I can't stop the tears. He takes his meds and they try to get him to lie down, but all he wants to do is play with the heart monitor and soon he's sliding into a giddy state. He still won't lie down, so the anesthesiologist picks him up and carries him into the surgery area, but as soon as he can't see us, he starts to cry and I lose it. TDH Man hugs me and reminds me that God is watching over our boy and he'll be safe. I repeat it to myself until I'm able to calm down and we're escorted to the parent waiting area.
At this point, I'm just going through the motions. We're paired up with a sort of surgical informant, someone on the hospital staff that periodically checks into the surgery room to find out how things are going. She tells us the surgeon is on his way down to give us a briefing on what's going to happen. The surgeon, Dr. Emani, is young, confident and takes the time to explain every piece of the surgery. It's obvious to us that Children's Hosptial Boston knows what they're doing and although it's also obvious that they do this every day, they never once make us feel like our boy is just another cog in their daily machine. After he explains everything, we head back to the waiting area and my Dad arrives to sit with us. While we're waiting, I notice the father of the boy that was with us on our pre-op rounds and I realize his wife isn't with him. Turns out she caught some terrible stomach flu, so while her little boy is getting his heart repaired, she's alone in a hotel room, sick as a dog and her husband is here with us at the hospital. I invite him to have lunch with us because honestly, I can't even begin to imagine what it's like to have to go through the same thing alone.
As we're sitting and having lunch, our Pastor comes to the hospital to sit and pray with us. Never mind that he's only been at our church for less than a month, never mind that he's never been to Children's Hospital Boston, never mind that he's met G maybe three times. He's there, completely and fully there for us. We eat our lunch and pray for our boys, Pastor, parents, strangers. We pray that God's hand will guide the surgeons, we pray that He will heal our boys, we pray that He will watch over them and that His will be done. We pray.
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