Charlie has been in surgery for about two and a half hours. Everything is OK so far.
We arrived at the hospital at 9:30. In the pre-op waiting room, we colored with crayons while a nice lady played a beautiful little mini Martin guitar. I told her Charlie likes to sing Bingo so that's what she sang for us.
When the nurses checked Charlie's vitals, a cricket landed on Charlie's shoe somehow, and one of the nurses flipped out. I told Charlie that having a cricket on your shoe is good luck! (Then the non-freaked out nurse squished the cricket in a tissue.)
Charlie was fine until we went to the little curtained off area to change him into his hospital johnny. He did not like that at all. He began to complain that he was afraid of the medicine. I had told him that he might feel a little dizzy when he woke up, and once he finally understood that no one was going to give him a shot, he seized on the dizzy thing. "I don't want the medicine!" he whimpered. Jeff distracted him with his usual hilarious made-up stories about Batman, Charlieman, and the Naughty Leprechaun.
The surgeon came in and wrote his initials in magic marker next to Charlie's right ear so that we could all agree that that was the ear that needed the operation. I put on a paper gown and hair covering and walked with Charlie into the OR, which was very very bright and filled with many many impressive looking machines. I held Charlie on my lap and sang "Whistle a Happy Tune" while a nurse held a mask over his mouth and nose. Pretty soon Charlie started giggling, and a few seconds later he was out. I carefully laid him on the operating table, kissed his cheek, and left the room.
Jeff and I ate burritos at the Longwood food court and then I walked him to the T and he went back to work. I browsed the gift shop, and then the nurses called for their every-90-minutes update. "Charles is doing just fine," she told me.
NEWS FLASH: HE'S DONE
The nurse just called me again and said "Everything's fine, the doctors want to see you." I walked down the hall on shaky legs to find Charlie's two surgeons, one of whom, Dr. McGill, was scarfing a Kit Kat bar. They showed me color photos of Charlie's operation. "It's hard to tell what I'm looking at," I admitted. So in between bites of Kit Kat, Dr. McGill drew me a diagram in red marker on a white board. "I don't understand how you can remove a space," I said. "It's the walls of the space that we remove," said Dr. Gopen. "It's like a tube, with walls of cartilage, and we removed the walls. Then we sutured the tissue together. It went really well. We were pleasantly surprised," he admitted.
"What about the facial nerve? Not a problem?" I asked.
"Nope, we found it right away, and tracked that branch, and it was really deep, we didn't have to get near it at all," he said.
In about an hour Charlie will come to, and they'll take me to see him.
There's another family in here with a baby boy with some sort of double cleft lip situation. I saw them in preop; the baby is super adorable and the dad has full-camo Army gear on. I mean real U.S. Army, not like Charlie's Old Navy wardrobe. I want to say something to them, but I'm not sure what. I don't want to violate their privacy but I'd like to give them a little thumbs up.
I packed so many projects to do and I haven't had time to do anything besides shop at the Coop and the hospital gift shop! This is a good problem to have.
