Then it was finally time to wear the operation gown. He also got to drink a sedative. Poor child, he was so happy to finally have something to drink that only after drinking it he realized it was utterly disgusting. A first tear appeared in his eyes. My big hug helped a lot.
Then it was time to move to the theatre, a nurse and I pushed the bed with him on it to the other side of the hospital. It was a long way and my ankle was still very sore (I fell down the stairs a week earlier) so we did not go very fast. At first my son was still sitting up, but the sedative started to work and soon he looked very drowsy and we laid him down.
By the time we arrived in the theatre he was very calm. I held his hand while they put him under completely with some gas. A kiss on his face, then I had to go.
It was 11:34. My long wait had started.
I first went to the cafeteria for some tea. I had barely had anything that morning and of course I had not had anything in the hospital as my son was not allowed to have something and I was not going to eat or drink in front of him. The tea and sandwich definitely helped.
Then I went back to his room and waited. I knew it would take at least 1.5 hours but after that time I could feel the nerves creeping around in me. When would they call me?! Was everything okay? I checked a few times with the nurses, but they assured me all was well and that they were simply still busy. I tried reading and working but to no avail. I just kept checking my phone.
Nearly two hours later I finally got the call that he was in the recovery room. I could come and join him. I could just feel my worries subside when I saw him again, sleeping peacefully. Even all the cables and tubes did not bother me. He was okay and all had gone well. It was surprising to see how busy the recovery room was, with nurses talking and checking on patients and doctor’s coming through with lunch trays and coffees in their hands. I had always imagined these places to be quiet and peaceful. How wrong I was.
In spite of the noise, it still took him 20 minutes to wake up and he was so happy to see me. He hugged and kissed me and was quite all right. Slowly he became aware of his surroundings; all the nurses and doctor’s rushing around us, noises, beeps, bright lights, shelves full of medical equipment and even tv screens with the Smurfs. Nothing seemed to bother him, except the IV in his hand. He immediately wanted to take that out and I barely managed to stop him.
An hour, some water and an ice cream later he was cleared and could go back to his room. There we spend another few hours, trying to see if he could drink/eat something. I gave him a nice book as a present and he felt quite spoiled that he got something and his twin brother did not.
Sadly, the yoghurt he had eaten did not stay in. He got very nauseous. He got some medication for that and then he soon felt much better. He wanted to wear his clothes again and to get out of bed. Especially when his Dad and brother came to visit. The next ice cream did stay in and with a huge pile of pain medication we were send home at 6 pm. Hooray, we had done it!
Tomorrow Part 4 of this story: The recovery
Read Part 1 of this story HERE.
Read Part 2 of this story HERE.