Surgery Day

We all did not sleep well the night before the surgery day. Since Kai was not allowed to drink anything from 4 am on (not even water), I was worried that he would wake up in the morning saying that he was thirsty and then get agitated because I couldn't do anything about it. That thought robbed me of my sleep. At 4:15 am, Kai came up into my bedroom and slept with me, holding my hand, until the morning. Then, sure enough, he asked for some water. I explained that we were camels, holding water in our humps to walk across the desert. This actually worked!

Check-in went quickly. Two other families were also checking in in an otherwise seemingly empty hospital. We left Oma in the waiting room and went into the procedural readiness room where we answered many questions and met many of Kai's medical staff (including the surgeon, anesthesiologist and their assistants). Kai busied himself with toys on the floor as we were literally throwing medical terminology around above his head. Given that we'd intentionally kept things straightforward and simple for Kai, this sudden barrage of information and terminology was a bit irritating. One of the surgical fellows marked an "x" on the spot where the incision would be made and then Kai was given a tranquilizer/amnesia-producing drug. I was holding him as he quickly got quiet and groggy. We reminded him that we loved him and that we would be there when he woke up again. He looked up at me and gave me a weak smile, then they put him in a red wagon to cart him off to the operating room. I wondered briefly if I would ever see him again.

Our friend, Sue, joined us in the waiting room. She hadn't slept much either. She and my mother talked, I faded in and out of conversation, Chris sat quietly. Waiting is never easy and the room was crowded with other families doing the same. We got a tour of the Intensive Care unit, but I was incapable of absorbing the information. Everything felt like a maze and I was perpetually lost. What helped me during the time of waiting was meditating and listening to Buddhist monks chanting. I had been doing this for the last week and so it immediately felt like falling back into a familiar routine.

I stopped looking at the clock, so as not to get anxious. At 10 am a nurse came in to say that everything was going okay and that they were just "finishing things up." The vague statement without further information confused us as we were told that Kai would be out of the operating room by 9:30 am (to make room for the next patient). Why did things take longer? Did something go wrong? Did they have to do a patch? ... An hour later, Dr. Ohye burst (yes, burst) through the door with a satisfied and relieved look on his face. We were immediately reassured by his firm handshake and confident manner. He was still running high on adrenaline and we could feel the intensity of the operating room. He briefly, but clearly, gave us an update.

Kai made it safely through surgery. The operation took two hours and was a bit more complicated than anticipated. It turned out that Kai had a very long coarctation that blocked 3 cm of his aorta, essentially making the aorta useless in that section. His body compensated for this by developing collateral vessels, probably before birth, to pump the blood down to his lower body. So, when they clamped off the aorta to cut out the coarctation, it didn't affect the blood flow to the heart at all--the collaterals were already used to doing all of the work of the aorta. It is absolutely amazing that he was able to function as he did for all these years.

...

Kai is now recuperating in the Intensive Care Unit, going in and out of sleep. The cardiac fellow who gave us a status report on the surgery referred to Kai as a "rock star" (which made Kai smile), saying he was doing great for the first day; moving around, talking and with good results on the many hourly tests they take. He came off the breathing machine shortly after surgery and is now on a cocktail of morphine, blood pressure medication and other drugs. It must make him hallucinate a bit because he said he saw a third eye on my forehead and that I was as tall as the ceiling!

The medical team--consisting of surgeon, anesthesiologist, cardiologist, social worker, nurses--are now making their rounds. They go around and, as a team, discuss each patient and the plan of action. This team comes by three times a day. Throughout the day, Kai has one nurse assigned to him (she is absolutely wonderful) and different kinds of medical staff, including a chaplain, stop by.

We are sharing a room with a family whose 2 year old daughter, Gillian, is on her fourth heart surgery! The courage and stamina of the parents the young girl are quite unfathomable. "We take each day at a time," the mother said. One hallway has a photo gallery tribute to young children and teenagers who were heart patients her and who lost their lives. Compared to what other families have been through, we have been so fortunate. Much to be grateful for.

So, news is good. We feel relieved, but are still cautious.