Surgery Day

Right now, I'm sitting in the PICU on the morning after Aleida's surgery. I tried to write about the hardest day of my life last night, but I couldn't--too exhausted. Now, after some sleep and more staring at my daughter, I feel less delirious.





Yesterday started for me at 2 am. I set my alarm and woke Aleida to give her one last feeding. She couldn't have any milk after 2:30 am. She had a nice, long, sleepy feed and went back to sleep without issue. I went back to sleep as well, but fitfully. I knew too much to sleep soundly.





We woke at 5:30 am and reached the check-in desk at the hospital just a little after 6:30. AJ was smiling and alert. If she was hungry, she wasn't complaining.





The waterworks started as soon as they took us back to the O.R. waiting rooms. I was anticipating the handover, and I couldn't imagine giving up my baby to people I knew were going to operate on her. Sure, it might be for the best, but it's hard to be that logical in the face of trauma. AJ got a little fussy while they were weighing her and attempting to get a blood pressure. Dave bounced her to sleep and she spent the last 15 minutes of the waiting peacefully sleeping in our arms. I spent the last 15 minutes trying to keep my tears to a gentle stream.





Dave's parents came. They are so supportive and helpful. I can only imagine the burden they carry, having to worry about 2 generations of kin through this ordeal. I am so thankful for them.





We walked down the hallway to the "kissing corner," as they call it. They should call it "crying corner," because this is where I had to hand my baby over to the anesthesiologist. Right before the exchange, AJ opened her eyes. She looked at me calmly, with recognition and love. My heart broke a thousand times in that few second exchange.





They took her away and Dave's parents left Dave and I to cry it out. I felt sick. Exhausted. Scared as I've ever been in my life. Dave's presence and strong, long hug might have been the only thing that kept me from collapse. I remember saying, "Having kids is kind of horrible."





The next hours are a blur, waiting and trying not to think or visualize too much. I remember going to the cafeteria to get breakfast and barely being able to eat. I remember driving home with my mother-in-law to get my phone, which I'd forgotten. I remember walking with Dave to a particularly scenic viewpoint. Mt. Hood and Mt. St. Helens were imposing and clear in the distance.





The nurse called about 12:30 to let us know surgery was over. We hustled back to the waiting area to meet with the surgeon. He smiled as he came in. Everything went well. No surpises. No complications. He felt confident that Aleida's heart was mended and would do well.

We got to see her about 30 minutes later. She has a breathing tube, 2 chest tubes, a large incision, and several other tubes and lines attached to her. But she still looks like AJ, and that's a relief. I was a bit afraid I wouldn't recognize her.

The care she is getting is amazing. The nurses are so skilled, yet so compassionate. I have spent many hours standing by Aleida's bedside as the nurses hustle and bustle around us. I feel helpless, but grateful. It takes a certain kind of faith, not unlike the religious variety, to stay calm in the face of modern medicine.

The rest of the day was uneventful. Aleida slept. Dave and I watched her. Dave's parents relieved us long enough to go home, shower, and stop at Trader Joe's to get some snacks. By the time we got to TJ's we were exhausted. I'm sure a 3rd person would not have been able to take part in our conversation, because I don't think we were really making sense.

As we checked out at TJ's, the cashier asked us, "What have you guys been up to today?"

My mind started racing with possible responses. "We've just been hanging out at the hospital waiting for our 3-month-old to get out of open heart surgery," didn't seem an appropriate answer to such an innocent question, however true it may be. I didn't want to share that with this stranger.

Luckily, Dave was a bit quicker to respond, though there was still an awkward pause. "Oh, not much. Just hanging out. Now we're getting some munchies."

"Alright, well, have a good evening." We took our snacks and left.

"Thanks for answering. I didn't know what to say."

Dave looked at me and snickered a little. He was thinking about my bloodshot eyes and his tired squint. He was thinking about our slow response and our bag of trail mix and chocolate treats. "It's okay. That guy just thinks we're really high."