In and out at Children’s

Yesterday morning, I was back at Children’s Memorial with Colin. His surgeon wanted to do a quick follow-up procedure to make sure the urethra was healing properly internally. And to do this, Colin needed to be put under — so technically it counted as another surgery. Because it was a surgery, we had to go back to the pediatrician on Monday for the pre-surgery physical. Then we had to wait until mid-day on Wednesday to find out when we were scheduled. Colin couldn’t eat after midnight on Wednesday (not a problem since he finally has given up his middle of the night bottles), and we were off to the hospital bright and early for a 6:30 check in.

This has now become almost routine for us. I have down exactly how quickly the traffic moves that early in the morning on Lincoln Avenue. I know it’s worth the extra dollar to valet park the car instead of trying to find a spot in the garage across the street. I finally know my cell phone number so I don’t have to look it up for the concierge when we check in. (Don’t laugh — I never use my phone so I didn’t know the number until last month.)

I can rattle off Colin’s medical history in my sleep, and have the explanation for the most frequently asked questions about him: 

• Why is he so small? 
• Why does he have chronic lung disease? 
• How long was he on the ventilator
• What medications is he on? When did he last take them? 
• When did he see his pulmonologist last? 
• Did he have any trouble coming off anesthesia in the past?
• Does he ever stop moving?

The last one seems to come up just as often as the others. And the answer is, “No, not really. He’s pretty much always on the move.”

I also feel like I can explain the pre-op routine as well as the anesthesiologist at this point. But I always let them go through their thing. 

So they took Colin away for anesthesia and I headed over to the waiting room to get a cup of coffee. I didn’t bother to bring anything with me this time, because his doctor was only expecting the procedure to take about five minutes. And he was right. I finished my coffee, got about 15 words into a magazine, and the surgeon was there giving me the update. “Everything looks good. Really good.” He looked quite pleased with himself — as well he should be. 

So we’ll go back and see the doctor again in about six months to make sure everything has continued to heal well. And at that point, we will talk about what could be Colin’s last surgery — just a little “landscaping.”