OK,not really. He wasn't even doing that before the surgery. But we are now sitting right next to him in the CICU. He is covered in leads and wires with tubes sticking out everywhere, BUT the consensus among the docs and nurses is that he looks great. After surgery, his surgeon, Max Mitchell, greeted us with a huge grin. He went on to describe the procedure, throwing around such phrases as "just beautiful", "couldn't have gone better", "an A+", "Guy's going to fly" and "I wish all my surgeries could go just like this one." Intoxicating stuff from the man who just held your son's life delicately in his hands.
He is still out like a light, but should be coming out of it and starting to wake up in an hour or two. Then they will remove his breathing tube. I have stroked his hands, feet, and sweet face, but am not tall enough to reach my lips to his forehead over the bars on his crib/bed. So I am still longing to kiss my little prince.
We couldn't give a better report than this! We might even get to take him home on Saturday!! Possibly Sunday, though. Let the healing begin.
Wednesday, August 5, 2009
Almost done!
Just got word that he is off of the heart-lung machine and being closed up. Next stop is the CICU. Soon they will let us know that we can go back and see him. He won't look great, but I'm dying to kiss his forehead and hold his little hand.
Update
The hole is closed! We were just told that the procedure is going very well and that the next step will be to wean Guy off of the heart-lung machine, which will take about an hour. So far, so good.
Valium with a Coffee Chaser
It is 9:10 a.m. and Guy's actual surgical procedure began about 10 minutes ago. At 7:30 a.m., a kind nurse took our baby in her arms and carried him away from us, down the hall, to the O.R. I know that Guy is in the very best place, in the care of one of the best pediatric cardiac surgery teams in the U.S., probably in the world. This is a "simple" VSD repair, and we feel so fortunate that he is not facing a complicated or rare surgery. Our hearts ache for the families who are waiting desperately for a heart to become available for their son or daughter who needs a transplant, though they know that in order for their prayers to be answered, another family of strangers will have to endure the unspeakable heartbreak of losing a child.
I often feel that way about my own windfall of good fortune. My deepest wishes came true when our two achingly beautiful, impossibly perfect children were brought to us. Our joy is tempered only by the knowledge that two anonymous families on the other side of the earth made the unfathomable and agonizing decision to place their precious babies in the hands of fate and then walk away. Surely they prayed for a happy, healthy life for those babies. Did they dare to wish that each of those children would be loved and adored by a large and ever-gowing circle of family and friends? Could they have hoped that these babies would be given opportunities for education and success in life beyond their birth families' wildest dreams? Whatever the motivations of whomever carried out that the excrutiating decision, it was done with the certain knowledge that they would never know their child's fate. Those Chinese families will forever harbor a sense of loss and struggle with questions never to be answered. But if not for their great loss, I would not have the fulfillment of my own heart's desire.
So, on this morning of Guy's much-anticipated surgery, I am aware of our good fortune. Yet as Guy was carried away by a stranger, I felt my heart dragged along with them. I sobbed and buried my face in Jon's chest and clung to him. I am an ugly crier and today was no exception. I was loud----honking and moaning, much like I would imagine a wounded goose to sound. My face was crumpled and blotchy. I am sure passersby reacted to me with a combination of sympathy and disgust.
Jon and I headed downstairs to put some food in our empty, jittery stomachs. More impotantly, I got a freshly brewed cup of coffee (we got up at 4:30 a.m.). MOST importantly, I dug out the Valium I have been carried around in my purse for 2 weeks. I will not disclose my source, but I will be forever to grateful to her. I am under its influence at this moment, and while it makes hitting the right keys on the keyboard is a bit challenging, it gives me the peace I need to get my thoughts and feelings out in writing. Good therapy.
We have just gotten an update from the O.R. All of Guy's lines and tubes were inserted smoothly and easily. He also was successfully hooked up to the heart-lung bypass machine without incident. This is great news, and yet here come the tears as I picture my sweet little baby with all of those tubes coming out of his body and his chest ripped wide open. At this moment, his heart is quite literally in someone else's hands. Will update again soon.
I often feel that way about my own windfall of good fortune. My deepest wishes came true when our two achingly beautiful, impossibly perfect children were brought to us. Our joy is tempered only by the knowledge that two anonymous families on the other side of the earth made the unfathomable and agonizing decision to place their precious babies in the hands of fate and then walk away. Surely they prayed for a happy, healthy life for those babies. Did they dare to wish that each of those children would be loved and adored by a large and ever-gowing circle of family and friends? Could they have hoped that these babies would be given opportunities for education and success in life beyond their birth families' wildest dreams? Whatever the motivations of whomever carried out that the excrutiating decision, it was done with the certain knowledge that they would never know their child's fate. Those Chinese families will forever harbor a sense of loss and struggle with questions never to be answered. But if not for their great loss, I would not have the fulfillment of my own heart's desire.
So, on this morning of Guy's much-anticipated surgery, I am aware of our good fortune. Yet as Guy was carried away by a stranger, I felt my heart dragged along with them. I sobbed and buried my face in Jon's chest and clung to him. I am an ugly crier and today was no exception. I was loud----honking and moaning, much like I would imagine a wounded goose to sound. My face was crumpled and blotchy. I am sure passersby reacted to me with a combination of sympathy and disgust.
Jon and I headed downstairs to put some food in our empty, jittery stomachs. More impotantly, I got a freshly brewed cup of coffee (we got up at 4:30 a.m.). MOST importantly, I dug out the Valium I have been carried around in my purse for 2 weeks. I will not disclose my source, but I will be forever to grateful to her. I am under its influence at this moment, and while it makes hitting the right keys on the keyboard is a bit challenging, it gives me the peace I need to get my thoughts and feelings out in writing. Good therapy.
We have just gotten an update from the O.R. All of Guy's lines and tubes were inserted smoothly and easily. He also was successfully hooked up to the heart-lung bypass machine without incident. This is great news, and yet here come the tears as I picture my sweet little baby with all of those tubes coming out of his body and his chest ripped wide open. At this moment, his heart is quite literally in someone else's hands. Will update again soon.
Tuesday, June 30, 2009
Monday, June 15, 2009
"You look good in humidity."
Uttered to me, by my husband, at the Summer Palace in Beijing. It's the second most romantic thing he's said to me all year. He's a poet, that Jon.
We had a lot of fun together in the six days we were alone before getting our Guy. It was just like the old days--I think I made a fool of myself laughing at the stuff Jon says. We could walk in silence for 10 minutes on the streets of Beijing, Jon would mutter two words under his breath, and suddenly I am helplessly doubled over with laughter. If you know Jon, you know exactly what I mean. We'll never forget our $100 (gulp!) cab ride across Beijing in rush hour, subsequently learning how to take the subway, our very special private Chinese massage in our hotel room, the smiley dancer at the Temple of Heaven, and so much more.
We had a lot of fun together in the six days we were alone before getting our Guy. It was just like the old days--I think I made a fool of myself laughing at the stuff Jon says. We could walk in silence for 10 minutes on the streets of Beijing, Jon would mutter two words under his breath, and suddenly I am helplessly doubled over with laughter. If you know Jon, you know exactly what I mean. We'll never forget our $100 (gulp!) cab ride across Beijing in rush hour, subsequently learning how to take the subway, our very special private Chinese massage in our hotel room, the smiley dancer at the Temple of Heaven, and so much more.
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