Jackson's been working on his letters lately. He can recognize almost all of the letters with great confidence and can write about half of the letters with some prompting. But we didn't think he had grasped the concept of spelling yet.
So tonight I was pleasantly surprised. We were talking about what he should write on a note to a friend. He told me what he wanted to write, then excitedly exclaimed, "And then I write Love, J-A-C-K.......ummmmm." I wasn't expecting him to make it that far, so I only wanted to offer a hint. "What goes ssssss?" "Oh! I know!" he exclaimed. "Snake-K-R".
It's a start.
Clarice
Monday, July 20, 2009
Monday, July 13, 2009
Kiran's surgery
Last Thursday, Kiran had ear tubes installed in both her eardrums. Sounds like a factory recall, but when your little girl gets an ear infection on average of once a month and spends a third of her life this year on antibiotics, which research is starting to link possibly to tooth enamel defects, you have to ask for help.
Clarice wanted to be present for the surgery, and I wanted her to be there since she is the medical professional in our family. Remarkably, thanks God, she was going to be able to squeeze it in before fleeing to her jury duty appointment at 10:30. We agreed that I would take Kiran in for 7:30 am check in and Clarice would leave home a bit later, drop Jackson off at daycare at a more reasonable 8:30, and then join us. The scheduled surgery was 9 am and therefore Kiran was not to have any fluids more than two hours prior. Hoping she would stay asleep, I scooped up the sleeping beauty at 7am and carried her to the car. But she awakened and became her cheerful, non-drowsy self, so I gave her a sip of water.
Arriving perfectly on time, I signed in and enjoyed Kiran climbing all over me and the chairs in the lobby. Then a nurse came out to collect the first patient of the day, a little girl who had already checked in but was not in the lobby. Apparently, her parents took her out into the hallway to distract her and they could not be reached by page. So, the nurse decided to take Kiran instead, an hour early!
Thus, a whirlwind of activity began that I was not quite prepared for. Within moments I was introduced to an anesthesiologist and asked questions about allergies, etc. I have a blurry memory of all the instructions I was given and people I met. I recognized the surgeon and said hello. The main point I remember was a description of the effect the sleeping gas would have on Kiran; that she would struggle for about a minute and then her eyes would roll back in her head and she'd be out. Knowing that Kiran was not supposed to have fluids in her tummy for fear they would come up and aspirate her, I secretly hoped that they would be forced to wait until Clarice arrived. I managed to call Clarice and alert her to the possible advanced schedule, but there was not much she could do to speed up her arrival.
Approval to commence suddenly happened and I was asked to sit next to the operating table and hold Kiran in my lap. A mask was held over her mouth and nose and when I caught a whiff of the pungent odor I joked about passing out myself and falling off the swivel chair. Kiran turned red in the face and panicked and I did my best to offer soothing talk and strokes to calm her. Then she went limp and the team instructed me to help lay her on the table and then I could go to the waiting area. At this point I felt totally helpless. Here was my little girl, unconscious, looking puffy in the face with tubes going everywhere. I was reluctant to leave so quickly and someone suggested I kiss Kiran on the forehead. The suggestion struck me because I couldn't believe someone had to tell me to do that. I'd been kissing her on the top of her head, but once she was out I kinda thought there was no more point to soothing words and touch. The request to kiss her one last time was haunting and surreal. Fortunately they continued to suggest actions that my body listened to, since I was not apparently able to give myself gross motor instructions. The surgeon told me that Kiran would be out of surgery in five or ten minutes and I expressed wonder and delight that the ordeal would be so short.
I found a magazine to read but could hardly focus on the article I chose. My heart raced, my body wanted to shudder and tears welled up in my eyes. I don't know how to express it, but I was dazed and alone all of a sudden, totally out of my element and comfort zone. Just writing this is making me cry all over again. It was so sad for me, giving Kiran over to the doctors and nurses and trusting them with her one-year old life.
And then I was escorted into a recovery room and Kiran was crying unconsolably and I held her tight and helped her cope with the obvious confusion. After about twenty minutes of pathetic wailing, she took her still warm milk bottle and began to calm down. So did I. Clarice arrived shortly thereafter and Kiran wanted to be held by her and not by me. Life quickly returned to normal and the little girl fell asleep in my car to wake up a perfectly happy little girl that I enjoyed for the rest of the day. Thank you medical team for taking such good care of my little sugar booger. Thank you God for being the Great Physician and loving us so much!
So no more ear infections, and I hope no more surgeries for any of my family. How Clarice must have felt when I experienced a concussion five days after our honeymoon and ankle surgery three weeks later. It's so much easier to deal with one's own ordeals than watch a loved one experience them.
Ian
Clarice wanted to be present for the surgery, and I wanted her to be there since she is the medical professional in our family. Remarkably, thanks God, she was going to be able to squeeze it in before fleeing to her jury duty appointment at 10:30. We agreed that I would take Kiran in for 7:30 am check in and Clarice would leave home a bit later, drop Jackson off at daycare at a more reasonable 8:30, and then join us. The scheduled surgery was 9 am and therefore Kiran was not to have any fluids more than two hours prior. Hoping she would stay asleep, I scooped up the sleeping beauty at 7am and carried her to the car. But she awakened and became her cheerful, non-drowsy self, so I gave her a sip of water.
Arriving perfectly on time, I signed in and enjoyed Kiran climbing all over me and the chairs in the lobby. Then a nurse came out to collect the first patient of the day, a little girl who had already checked in but was not in the lobby. Apparently, her parents took her out into the hallway to distract her and they could not be reached by page. So, the nurse decided to take Kiran instead, an hour early!
Thus, a whirlwind of activity began that I was not quite prepared for. Within moments I was introduced to an anesthesiologist and asked questions about allergies, etc. I have a blurry memory of all the instructions I was given and people I met. I recognized the surgeon and said hello. The main point I remember was a description of the effect the sleeping gas would have on Kiran; that she would struggle for about a minute and then her eyes would roll back in her head and she'd be out. Knowing that Kiran was not supposed to have fluids in her tummy for fear they would come up and aspirate her, I secretly hoped that they would be forced to wait until Clarice arrived. I managed to call Clarice and alert her to the possible advanced schedule, but there was not much she could do to speed up her arrival.
Approval to commence suddenly happened and I was asked to sit next to the operating table and hold Kiran in my lap. A mask was held over her mouth and nose and when I caught a whiff of the pungent odor I joked about passing out myself and falling off the swivel chair. Kiran turned red in the face and panicked and I did my best to offer soothing talk and strokes to calm her. Then she went limp and the team instructed me to help lay her on the table and then I could go to the waiting area. At this point I felt totally helpless. Here was my little girl, unconscious, looking puffy in the face with tubes going everywhere. I was reluctant to leave so quickly and someone suggested I kiss Kiran on the forehead. The suggestion struck me because I couldn't believe someone had to tell me to do that. I'd been kissing her on the top of her head, but once she was out I kinda thought there was no more point to soothing words and touch. The request to kiss her one last time was haunting and surreal. Fortunately they continued to suggest actions that my body listened to, since I was not apparently able to give myself gross motor instructions. The surgeon told me that Kiran would be out of surgery in five or ten minutes and I expressed wonder and delight that the ordeal would be so short.
I found a magazine to read but could hardly focus on the article I chose. My heart raced, my body wanted to shudder and tears welled up in my eyes. I don't know how to express it, but I was dazed and alone all of a sudden, totally out of my element and comfort zone. Just writing this is making me cry all over again. It was so sad for me, giving Kiran over to the doctors and nurses and trusting them with her one-year old life.
And then I was escorted into a recovery room and Kiran was crying unconsolably and I held her tight and helped her cope with the obvious confusion. After about twenty minutes of pathetic wailing, she took her still warm milk bottle and began to calm down. So did I. Clarice arrived shortly thereafter and Kiran wanted to be held by her and not by me. Life quickly returned to normal and the little girl fell asleep in my car to wake up a perfectly happy little girl that I enjoyed for the rest of the day. Thank you medical team for taking such good care of my little sugar booger. Thank you God for being the Great Physician and loving us so much!
So no more ear infections, and I hope no more surgeries for any of my family. How Clarice must have felt when I experienced a concussion five days after our honeymoon and ankle surgery three weeks later. It's so much easier to deal with one's own ordeals than watch a loved one experience them.
Ian
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