Roughly two years ago, Mighty B.'s chronic ear infections led to the insertion of tubes in his ears. Those tubes were supposed to fall out on their own, but they were as stubborn as Mighty B. himself. At this horrible, overbooked office visit, the doc decided they should be surgically removed.
Well, I dragged my feet, hoping to find they'd fall out on their own, but I couldn't risk the kid's hearing, could I? It's bad enough that he refuses to listen to me; I don't want to let him shore up his selective perception with medical limitations.
Last week was preadmission testing. Thankfully they drew no blood samples. I really wasn't sure how I'd get past that one if they had. B. is afraid of needles (who isn't?) and I wanted this whole experience to be a good one. If I had to sit on him for a needle, he'd be scarred for life.
(His trip to the dentist last week for his first filling was as smooth as buttercream. The dentist asked that I not tell him about needing a filling, and I didn't. The dentist filled the tooth -- Novocaine and all -- and B. was as cool as a cucumber. He wasn't happy about the numb cheek, but he handled that visit to the destist better than I ever could.)
Back to the subject. During preadmission testing, I'd mentioned to the nurse practitioner that I didn't want them using Versed. They used it when the tubes went in, and the poor kid was crying and combative for two hours in recovery. She made a note but no promises.
Anyway, yesterday we arrived at the hospital -- the whole parade of us -- at 7:00 a.m. In typical hurry-up-and-wait fashion, B. and I went back and got him dressed in hospital garb, answered a few questions, sat through some vital signs, and waited. The Oracle, Precious Daughter, and Kryptonite joined us and together we waited over an hour, with little visits here and there from the anesthesiologist and a couple of surgical assistants. We were -- surprise!! -- waiting for the doctor to arrive. She not only keeps her patients waiting at her office, she keeps the hospital staff waiting as well.
At 8:20, they led Mighty B. down the hall to surgery. My taller-than-average son suddenly looked very small as he walked away, his green hospital johnny flashing glimpses of his Scooby Doo underwear. I wanted to cry.
Twenty minutes later, I joined him in the recovery room as he was devouring a green freeze pop which gave us the pleasure of an encore visit ten minutes later. His ear hurt despite an injection of Toradol, so they gave him a dose of Tylenol on top of it. He cuddled with The Oracle for a bit, and we were on our way home at roughly 10:00 with instructions for B. to take it easy for the rest of the day (no climbing, bike riding, or anything where balance is critical) and to keep his ear dry for two days.
He wasn't out of bed twenty minutes this morning before hopping on his pogo stick for a bounce around the driveway.
I wish I had some of that ambition.