Pro ced ure.
Surgery means they have to cut you open.
Surgery means there is recovery time.
Surgery is expensive. And November has been expensive enough, thank you very much.
I got home from my most wonderful trip late at night. I was debriefed. And then unlike any smart person, I stayed up later than I should. (But I had a good reason! I swear!) I got everything prepared for a whirlwind of a morning. We had to be at the hospital at 8am. Tornado S couldn’t eat. Tornado E had to be at school at 9am. We couldn’t bring Tornado A. Luckily our support system rocked.
After dressing kids and dropping them off, we arrived at the hospital on time. We were ushered into the registration office to fill out necessary paperwork and to leave our pound of flesh. (I f-ing hate of health insurance system!) Then we waited. I read a Star Wars book to Tornado S. Finally we were called back to the prepping station.
The nurses were amazing. They engaged Tornado S. They told him what was going on in child terms. “I’m reading the numbers in your head.” “I’m looking at your heart beat on the TV.” “This cuff is going to hug your arm tight.” “You get to wear this really neat outfit.” “Who are you holding?” “Yoda is my favorite.”
Um, Parent Fail: I forgot the blankie. BUT. I did find Star Wars figures in the car.
In no time, Tornado S was prepped and ready to go. And we waited some more. I began reading the Star Wars book again. Then another little boy and his parents entered the prepping station. He was about three, and where ever his thing was stuck hurt him. He was crying, screaming, throwing all manners of fits. He was uncooperative. The parents were stressed and distressed. Any one could see the poor boy was scared and in pain and all was forgiven. Anyone that didn’t understand was clearly a jerk and needed a black eye.
Tornado S was worried. He stared at the boy and looked up at me.
Me: (whispering) You can tell him its ok.
Tornado S: (leaning around me, trying to make eye contact) It’s OK! (pause. No response from the boy.) Hey! You’ll be fine! (Pause) IT WON’T HURT!
The boy stopped fighting the nurses and crying and looked at Tornado S. Tornado S smiled.
Tornado S: It won’t hurt!
The fight went out of the boy. He submitted to the prepping.
Not too long after that, the anesthesiologist came. He began with a lecture of laughing gas, aimed for a child much older than Tornado S.
Dr: And everyone wanted to try it. They would pay to do it. Do you want to try it?
Tornado S blinked at him.
Me: Tornado S. They’re going to put a mask on you. Like Darth Vader. And then you have to breathe into it. Like Darth Vader. Can you show me how you breathe like Darth Vader? (Tornado S mimics the breathing.) Great! Now the nurses and doctors are going to want to hear that too? Can you do it for them.
Tornado S nodded. The doctor smiled.
Dr: I have a little boy who is ten. And he loves Star Wars. We should talk.
As a Star Wars conversation started, the ENT checked in on us and reassured us. The anesthesiologist picked up Tornado S and carried him away.
My baby was having a procedure.
I tried to read as I waited.
Ten minutes later the ENT entered the waiting room. He handed me a plastic container, holding the pearl bead with a little ear wax on it.
ENT: Done. They’re bringing him up from being under, and they will call you in soon.
I looked at the bead. The very expensive plastic bead that Tornado E had put with the pirate treasure.
What do I do with you now?
I still think it should go in the baby book.