The day began. I woke up in a darkened bedroom in my aunt’s wonderfully homey house. I slept far better than I had imagined I was going to. Today was the day that my son was going if or some major surgery. His tibia has a twist in it. Today, they are going to cut his bone in two places and mount him with a fixator that will be adjusted mostly daily for the next five months in order to correct the twist.
Yeah, I know. I say it like that and it doesn’t sound that bad. But, as a parent all bets are off. I caught up with him, his little brother and his mother at the hospital. Hospital plazas, as always are a nightmare in terms of parking and all of that bureaucracy built upon by insane city planners. In a maze of one way streets and too many hospitals in a short base of land, there wa some confusion and some stress in an already stressful morning. Once I found the RIGHT, parking garage, we stepped inside to to a crowded information desk. I stepped up to a large man who ushered us forward and told him I was here meeting my son and the rest of my family.
This was not a bright man. I was not surprised that he wasn’t on the medical staff. He proceeded to tell me that my son was not a patient. Yes, I know. We are here to REGISTER him for surgery today. Please step aside, son. Wait over there.
Turns out my kids were already there, and despite what security thought, I just walked in. Security never even paid any attention to me. I walked through and wandered until I found the registration desk.
Eventually we made it to the preliminary recovery room. My son fell apart when the first nurse walked in the door.
After and hour of debriefing it was time for him to go under. My mind is somewhat of a flutter right now. There are strangely frightening and humorous remarks to made about the giant Russian anesthesiologist and his posse… But I just can’t put the humor in at the moment. I’m a little spaced out and two hours into a 5 plus hour wait in the waiting room.
More to come later. I’m tapped out of words now.