Recovering

I don't have a blog entry in me tonight - wow, this really is a special kind of tired! - but don't want to leave things hanging either.

Samuel was wheeled out of his ICU room at 4:30 this afternoon and wheeled back in just after 8:00 this evening. The anesthesiologist said he did really well right up until the very end when they needed to bring him back to ICU, then he "threw a bit of a snit" (that's my boy!!) about having to make the transition. Moving him back and settling him into ICU again was a bit stressful for him and consequently for Chris and I as well. Samuel is resting peacefully now.

The surgery itself is breathtaking. Samuel had virtually no diaphragm at all. His stomach, large intestine, small intestine, liver and spleen were all up in his chest. He has one neat incision about 3 inches long just under his left rib. Through that hole, they pulled all those organs from his chest down into his belly, then built him a diaphragm and stitched it to his rib. The surgeon says he actually has a decent lung on that left side where everything was in addition to the right lung which they already know is adequate or he wouldn't have made it this far. His heart is already moving back towards where it should be.

The next few days are, as everyone reminds us, the "touch and go" phase for Samuel. Of particular concern is that his spleen bled a little when they pulled it down into his abdomen. It was squished and had adhered to some other tissue and they are not sure how fully it will recover. They will be monitoring for internal bleeding and there is a chance that he will have to go back to surgery to have his spleen removed. Samuel is already at risk of infection and is so very little; to lose his spleen and all its immune functions would be extremely hard on him at this point.

They were able to fit all of his organs into the abdomen without leaving an opening post-surgery. They did not want the added infection risks of that opening and then the subsequent surgery to close it if he could accommodate the organs now. So they will be watching him for pressure on his abdomen, especially making sure those organs aren't pressing up on his new diaphragm. There is a long list of other things they will watch over the next few days as well but I have neatly sequestered those away in order to minimize freaking out tendencies.

He looks beautiful. It is amazing. I am in awe and filled with gratitude. I say thank you to everyone who comes near him, over and over. I caught myself looking at our surgeon as she walked away tonight. She is this 30-something, brilliant, kind, down-to-earth woman and I caught myself trying to confirm that her feet actually touch the ground. Seriously.

Such an incredible thing just happened to our not-even-7-pound baby boy. Chris and I are here with him at the hospital and will be through the night and then in shifts over the next several days. I keep having these enormous, spontaneous exhalations and thinking "man, how long have I been holding my breath?!" But then I do it again. I don't expect regular exhaling to begin again just yet.

Off to surgery

Samuel was cleared to go to surgery this morning at about 11:00 but they weren't sure they were going to have the slot in the operating room. Felt awful to think that he was finally being given the green light and yet we might still not get there. They told us that we would know something by 2:00 p.m. and that, if we hadn't heard anything, it was likely off for today.

Chris and I waited. And waited. At three minutes to 2:00, someone stuck her head in the door to his room and told us that they would be coming to get him within the hour. Our baby Samuel is going to surgery. I will visualize him surrounded by light and cradled by love and many prayers. And I will get to work on that letter advocating for the hospital to carry a liquor license. I mean, seriously!!!

love
Corinne

Tomorrow... maybe

On Tuesday, we thought surgery could be 'tomorrow... maybe' and then Wednesday came and no surgery. So they spent yesterday working to optimize his numbers and monitoring how he was doing and we were told surgery could be 'tomorrow... maybe.' We arrived at the hospital this morning with anticipation. I stood and listened as the team did rounds on our Samuel and the end result was 'tomorrow... maybe.'

The good news is that the 'tomorrow' in this case sounds more definite than it has. That's about as certain as anything can be with our Samuel. Cardiology and surgery came to speak with Chris and I, something they haven't really done since before the infection sprouted last Friday night. The tone around sending him to surgery is more excited and positive and less tentative. That said, we have learned that things change in the blink of an eye and we need to be ready for anything. 

The feeling now is a little like when we were waiting for Samuel to be born. The surgery has to happen. It is an inevitable next step, whether tomorrow or soon after. It is a good thing that he get a chance to show us what he can do with his insides not all mixed up. And yet it is risky, this next phase. He might not come out okay. He might die in the operating room or he might be too sick to recover afterwards and we will lose him then. Or he might rally and show us how strong he is - just like he did in the last operating room he wasn't expected to make it out of.

I cannot tell a lie... I am too scared to be scared. I am in auto-pilot, feeling kind of nothing, not really able to talk. I am exhausted and my body is choosing now to let me know that it might just want a little rest and recovery after having come through a really hard pregnancy and major surgery. So this evening I rest at home with boys all around me - Daniel playing Nintendo next to me, Zachary on the floor drawing pictures of our family of six under a protective rainbow, Jakey running in and out with various pretend weapons, Chris warming up the dinner dropped off by a neighbour. My littlest boy rests in his hospital bed with capable nurses who love him.

I dreamt last night that I was walking through markets and visiting castles in Italy. Things kept breaking and I kept finding myself on my knees picking up pieces of coloured glass, broken tile, bits of wood. I gently collected all I could each time and this kind man kept appearing and saying calmly, "It's okay, we will fix it. We will fix it." Fragility, hope, comfort. We don't exactly need to call Dr. Freud on this one, do we.

Tomorrow morning there will be more blood work before they give the all clear. The cardiologists, surgeons, intensivists and anesthesiologists will all have to meet to agree that he is ready and then surgery would likely take place mid- to late-afternoon. I will make a quick post to the blog when Samuel goes in... tomorrow... maybe... :)