The Not-So-Tearless Tear Duct Surgery

Miss K had her tear duct surgery on Wednesday.  We were scheduled to be at the hospital at 6:30am.  To add insult to the injury of our cruel, way-too-early awakening, it was something like minus two trillion yesterday morning.  We started the van at 5:30 in attempt to have it warm for our 6:10 departure.  Yeah, it was blowing "warm-ish" air by the time we were all buckled in.  Brutal doesn't even begin to describe the temperature.

Kat was in a surprisingly good mood, despite the four hours of sleep we all had.  She charms everyone she comes into contact with, and the nurses were no exception.  They were smitten from the moment Kat let out an exuberant, "Good morning! Ow are you? Good."

After checking in to admitting, we toodled down the hall to day surgery.  We were quickly ushered into what would become our private "room" for the morning (just a curtained off area with a bed and a chair).  K thought the yellow striped pajamas were the bomb.  The first thought that crossed my morbid mind?  "I wonder if another child has died wearing these pjs?".  Yeah, it's those types of thoughts that are reallllly helpful at times like that.

It wasn't long before a nurse came to take K's vitals.  She was enthralled with all the beeping machines.  Unfortunately, this interest wouldn't last all day.

Mike's a little bleary eyed, but rightfully so :)

A much needed snuggle with Mommy (for both of us).

Shortly after, an OR nurse came to get K and I.  I got to put on a lovely yellow scrub (reminiscent of a snugglie only not as warm) and a blue shower cap thing.  We kissed Daddy good-bye and made our way to the OR.  We were given a warm blanket to cuddle under while we waited for the anesthetist. Once I was given the run-down on what would happen in the OR, it was time to go in.  I thought I was prepared...

They laid K down on the table and someone handed me a small, plastic mask to practice holding over K's face (there was no tubes attached to it).  The act of holding it over her mouth was the beginning of the end for both of us.  She freaked.  Plan B was for me to sit down, with her in my lap and hold the mask over her face.  It was my turn to freak.  Miss K resisted and resisted and resisted.  She fought and twisted and screamed and cried.  At one point, the tubes popped off the mask, meaning the gas was freely flowing through the air.  The nurses quickly told me to hold my breath, lest I pass out as well. As K continued to fight, I could feel the tears welling up in my eyes.  The look in Miss K's eyes just about killed me...because it was ME holding the mask, she had this look like I had broken her trust...why, oh, why was Mommy doing this to her?  It broke my heart.

When K finally succumbed to the gas, they laid her on the table and ushered me out.   In a scene reminiscent of Grey's Anatomy where one of the doctor's has just lost a patient, I damn near ran down the hall, crying, tore of my scrubs and threw them in a basket.  I just about punched a wall for good measure.  I was panicking and I needed a hug from Mike.  I made my way back to Day Surgery and had a good (quiet) cry.  

The surgery was very short and we had been told Recovery would phone for us once she was there.  We saw on the monitoring screen when she was moved to Recovery (kudos to the Vic for installing this system...similar to an arrival/departures screen at an airport!).  Every time the phone rang at the desk, I expected that it would be for me.  Time kept ticking by and I began to get more and more antsy.  All of a sudden, a bed, ushered by two nurses, came around the corner and there was Miss K.  She was sitting up and completely fine.  Until she caught sight of me.  Then she began to wail.  Apparently, she was fine cuddling with a Recovery nurse until she looked up and realized, "You're not my mommy!".  It was shortly after that they brought her back to us.

We hung around in Day Surgery until K had a bit to drink and calmed down.  The whole time, she kept pointing down the hall and saying, "Go? Go?".  We were all relieved when we finally got to leave.  We were home by 10:30am and we all laid down for a much needed nap.

I am thankful that her tear duct surgery was a success.  I am thankful that it was a very minor procedure. I am thankful that it is over with.  I am thankful to have such a wonderfully, calming husband like Mike. And I'm thankful that K will likely not remember any of it.  For me?  I will never forget that look in her eyes as I held the mask on her face though.  Utterly heartbreaking.