Successful surgery

Amelia is fine. She is more than fine, in fact. She is a superstar.

The child didn't have a single, solid bite of food from 7 p.m. the night before until 2 p.m. the day of surgery, and she was not only OK, she was peppy. I did sneak her a 4 oz. bottle of milk at 5 a.m., which was against the hospital's "no solids or milk past midnight" rule, but which was well within the actual food-consumption guidelines set by the Society for Pediatric Anesthesia (honestly, parents have to do their own research about these things). She also drank apple juice up until 9 a.m. After that--nothing. Personally, I had breakfast, but I skipped my mid-morning snack so I wouldn't be eating in front of her, and I was starving by the time she went into surgery. I am in awe of the child.

She was happy and busy in the waiting room, and happy and busy in the pre-op exam room. She liked her surgical pajamas and the yellow slippy-socks.

***This is where I thought we'd post a photo of pre-op Amelia. Funny, by the time she was in her little outfit, 10 minutes before surgery, the camera was the very last thing on my mind.***

We carried her to the surgery room, and I laid her down on the operating table. She didn't even wiggle. She just held my fingers with one hand and clutched Little Dolly with the other. She looked curious when the anesthesiologist put the tiny mask over her nose and mouth, but she didn't flinch. After a minute or two she started grinning inside the mask, and kicking her feet high into the air. Then she was still, her eyes only half-closed.

I held it together until we got out to the waiting room. Simon asked if I was OK, and I started trembling and tearing up. I mean, this was a tiny procedure involving a tear duct. Can you imagine what I would have been like if they were wheeling her off to a five-hour open-heart surgery?

Twenty-five minutes later the nurse called for us, and I could hear Amelia screaming in the recovery area. She had woken up immediately after surgery, asking for Mommy, and now she was inconsolable. Her left eye was red and swollen. She wailed loudly for a good 10 minutes, alternately clawing at my shoulder and pulling at the tape around the IV in her hand. Finally, the nurse removed the IV, the blood pressure cuff, and the little toe-monitor. I whispered a made-up version of "Hush Little Baby" into her ear, and she fell asleep for 10 minutes. When she woke up, she was happy again.

And that was it. The nurses gave her a bear, they gave us some eye ointment and care instructions, and we were on our way. Aside from the blood-tinged tears and snot, she was completely normal.

Henry, on the other hand, was a weepy mess all weekend. I think he was overwhelmed by a combination of worry for Amelia and heart-piercing jealousy over the attention she's been getting. He looked absolutely wounded when the bouquet of "Get Well Soon" balloons arrived from their cousins.

One last note: As we were leaving the hospital, I saw a little girl, maybe 5 or 6 years old, walking out, holding hand with her mother. The little girl was bald, probably from chemotherapy, and the mother had shaved her head, too.