Luca had surgery last week. Yes, I know you are thinking, “Didn’t he just have surgery over the summer?” That was Eli. We’re trying to complete our Lurie Children’s Hospital punch card, which entitles us to a free boob job.
Luca was totally cool with me explaining the surgery to you, but I’d like to keep one tiny shred of his privacy intact. It was a totally normal procedure, but he had to be put under and with all the COVID stuff, we were all on edge.
I’m including the note Elijah wrote the night before, which is why I love Eli in one single document.
My great friend Pat once said, “We project our insecurities onto our children.” And I just assumed Luca would have a complete meltdown over the experience. Because I would. I spent the week leading up to the surgery asking him if he was nervous. Are you super nervous? Are you freaking out? Are you? How about now? I made him listen to meditations on an app and do breathing exercises and generally made a nuisance of myself.
The truth is, he isn’t “the nervous one.” Or “the sensitive one.” He’s just Luca, despite my efforts.
We got to the hospital and went through the while rigamarole of getting him into his gown and learning how the TV worked.
After we got settled, the nurse offered Luca some medicine to calm his nerves. He politely refused. Diana and I went into full pusher mode. “Are you suuuure? It’ll make you feeeeeel good, it’ll make you feeeeeel good (echo echo).
But he didn’t want to feel out of control. He didn’t want to feel woozy. Which I respect but 100% disagree with.
They wheeled him away with no tears, no panic, no drama. And in the time it took for me to respond to the 400 “I know you are off today, but I have a teensy question” emails, he was back.
After a little recovery, they handed us a fist full of pain killers and anti-biotics and sent us on our way.
We got home and I scheduled out all the various pills for night duty. I felt totally prepared as we watched 400 Youtube videos before Luca fell asleep.
Oh wait. We never taught Luca how to take pills. Oops. Thus, began my personal nightmare. Luca was in pain, he was exhausted, he was uncomfortable. And all the ways he could feel better got stuck on the back of his tongue.
“Just fill your mouth with water and shove the pill in. Viola! Pill gone,” I said.
“I DON’T DRINK WATER LIKE THAT!” was the reply.
We eventually created little pill pouches out of string cheese. Grover and Jerry pleaded with their eyes to get their own Norco. It kind of worked, but pain pills taste terrible. The antibiotics were time release capsules, so chewing them wasn’t an option.
Diana spent the next 24 hours calling every person even remotely associated with Luca’s surgery. Doctors, nurses, the nice man who wheeled him out on the wheelchair. No one called back. In our minds, Luca’s insides were liquifying without his medicine.
So Diana went into what she lovingly calls “Full Karen.” Her fury was so great that the doctor began calling her in between every surgery to make sure he wouldn’t get yelled at again.
We got Luca the liquid form of his antibiotic, but he refused to keep taking pain pills. Wanted to tough it out. “What’s wrong with you?” I said.
Luca is totally on the mend and is still negotiating his reward. He’s leaning towards a 2021 Ford F150 Supercab. Or a new keyboard.
