Baby’s First Surgery

In the middle of the general collapse of society, Elijah needed to have some minor surgery. In the interest of preserving the last shred of his privacy, let’s just say he had a none of your business removed from his none of your beeswax.

I was delighted to discover the hospital would only allow one parent to accompany him. And then horrified to learn they relaxed that policy the day before his surgery. It’s not that I didn’t want to be there, I just didn’t want Eli see me have a complete emotional breakdown.

On the morning of, I went into full Rick Mode. Which meant sitting in the car 45 minutes before we needed to leave and communicating only through a series of grunts and clicks. 

I do not recommend going to a major hospital during a global pandemic if you have anxiety issues. But the Children’s wing did their best to make wearing a mask and not touching anything fun.

Eli was understandably nervous. When asked about pain, his doctor had given the kiss of death, “There will be a little discomfort for a couple days.” And that, my friends, is how you get a new Playstation.

Once the sedatives kicked in, I pulled out my phone to record any viral hits, but then felt gross and put it away. He did give a hilarious monologue about his new superpowers and the benefits of gravity, but mostly just behaved like a bridesmaid who made the mistake of mixing whisky and wine on an empty stomach. 

Then the nurse said, “Okay. If you want to say goodbye, this is the time.” Goodbye? Remember that one girl who died from anesthesia? Was that at the dentist? Why are we doing this? Run. Run! I wondered how far I could get with a hundred pound babbling sack of Jell-O. Diana and I kissed him and told him we loved him.

They wheeled him out of the room and he shed a single tear down his cheek. At which point I died. 

Diana and I spent the next couple of hours silently scrolling Twitter and washing our hands. Diana received texts about the Eli’s progress like she was receiving a package from Anthropologie. 

The procedure was a complete success. Eli did great.  His recovery was a little barfy, but our post op nurse was amazing. A playfully gruff southsider who seemed to exist to play against all nursing stereotypes. His entire goal in life was to “get you out of my hair.” We loved him.

Eli and I became roomies for the next couple of days. He needed pain meds every three hours and wasn’t supposed to leave his bed, so we built a little nest made of video games, Doritos and opioids. 

But now he’s up and about and is healthy enough for me to yell at him about leaving wet towels on the floor.