Surgery

"Do you have any other concerns?" the gowned man asked.

Will my son wake up from the anesthesia? What could go wrong if the doctor makes a mistake? Am I making a mistake doing this?

"Just the usual ones," I said. I threw in what I hope was a wry smile.

The anesthesiologist smiled back. I guess I put enough wry into the smile to be convincing.

Oh, I knew that Shane was in good hands. There wasn't any serious danger for him. I think being in a surgical center is enough to put anyone (much less the parent of a young child) at some unease. It would be different if Shane was in immediate danger and they were stopping something that was already happening. As it were, I was bringing my son in voluntarily and he looked healthy enough if you didn't live with him.

Shane's three back-to-back ear infections warranted tubes. Carrie didn't need them as a child, but my parents told me I had a "7-month long ear infection" and the operation "changed their lives radically." Sorry, son. It looks like you're dada's genetics got you again.

Shane and I had to report to the surgical center at 6:45 AM. God must have been looking out for us, because I hit over 15 green lights in a row on the way in. The instructions didn't allow for him to eat or drink anything after midnight, so I was counting on an upset baby. Shane's backpack was stuffed with books, a garbage truck, and a fully charged iPad. Everything went better than I expected until Shane had to take some grape medicine. I think he was too distracted by the shiny new surroundings, at first. The nasty grape flavor hit and he had a meltdown for the next 10 minutes. I couldn't keep the kid happy. He sobbed, sniffled, and curled against me in his gown. He was so distraught he didn't even want to watch videos of himself (and we all know how vain my boy is). Eventually, he calmed down and Perry the Platypus caught his eye. We were admiring all the balloon, airplane, and train art on the walls when the nurse collected us.

8:10 AM Shane held my hand and we walked into surgery. The boy was clueless. He stared around in wonder at the gowned people and the strange room. I picked him up and laid him on the table. Shane was mesmerized by all the new sights, but when the breathing mask came out the fighter in him surfaced. Three adults held down one tiny boy while another made sure the breather was on properly. Shane's eyes flicked side to side. That was the worst for me. The anesthesiologist congratulated me on how well things went and told me it was time to go, but I couldn't stop looking at my son's eyes. They kept moving like he was awake.

Apparently, I hide whenever I'm nervous or anxious pretty well. I certainly try to never let it stop me from doing what needs to be done. I picked up Shane's stuff and headed out so the business of making my son feel better would get started.

Growing up, I always had a good imagination. That included the ability to imagine all sorts of things going catastrophically wrong. On the other hand, I think my brothers and sisters were born without a sense of fear. What's an older brother to do? Let the young ones go it alone? Many a time I'd run in after them or try to do something first (substituting impulsivity for bravery), but I'd have a running catalog of a few worst case scenarios playing out as I went. I couldn't help but think about Shane's eyes moving as I went to the waiting room, but I'm older (and maybe wiser) now so I squashed my fears and pulled out the iPad to kill some time.

The doctor came out to get me before I'd read more than a chapter in Matthew. Things had gone well, and Shane was ready to recover. He gave me a prescription for some ear drops, because there was a drop of blood in Shane's ear they didn't want to clog a tube.

I went to another waiting area and got to hold my son. He was angry and crying until we got a warm blanket and a bottle in him. After the bottle I started reading Big Bird's Book of Colors and The Very Hungry Caterpillar until it was time to go. Shane seemed no worse for wear. He didn't even look like he'd been through surgery. Shane was mellow and it was a pleasant drive back.

Carrie rushed out to greet us. I wanted her in bed resting, but she wanted to see Shane. She'd been so worried that she had cleaned the whole time we were gone.  When Shane saw her he smiled....and immediately sprinted around the car to the garage door.

"SEE!?!?!?"  Shane yelled. He pointed at the garage door buttons.

That's our boy! He's home and healthy and hopefully done with ear infections for a looooong time.