Another Surgery, Part Two

The last thing I saw were the glaring lights and steril steel of the operating room; the last thing I heard was the anesthesiologist’s soothing voice.

Then I was dreaming – something about Emily.

Then I was waking up in recovery.

A nameless, faceless nurse was with me as I drifted in and out of consciousness. I heard her call the surgeon’s office to set up a follow-up appointment, and could repeat the date and time later (she was very impressed).

At one point I looked at the clock – 10:30. My surgery had started at 9:10. It must’ve gone well!

Eventually, she wheeled me to the same area in which I was prepped before surgery, and helped me into a reclining chair. David and I sat there together for the next two hours, with a nurse checking on me every once in a while.

While I recovered, David told me the surgeon’s report: my gallbladder had been removed successfully. He only saw a tiny bit of scar tissue, so it was easily done laparoscopically.

However, while inside he discovered that my liver’s bile duct was very inflammed and enlarged. He had only seen this one other time in all his years doing gallbladder surgeries, so he was referring me to a liver specialist. He warned that this may require another surgery if the inflammation doesn’t go down. Yippee!

Otherwise, recovery was much more pleasant than after my other outpatient surgery. I wasn’t pushed to get out of the bed and out of the building as soon as I could stand. The nurses made sure I didn’t have a reaction to the pain meds and that I could eat, drink, and . . . do other bodily functions.

By the time I was discharged around 1:00, I walked out of the building with no help from the nurse next to me, climbed into the van, and drove away.

My gallbladder surgery is history. . . now to finish recovering.

Another Surgery, Part One

“I’ve had two surgery’s,” I told the surgeon’s nurse. “A major one to remove a large infection in my abdomen, and then a laparoscopic to try to remove scar tissue from the first.”

She seemed unimpressed.

“It seems like a lot to me,” I explained.

“You’ve had the least of anyone we’ve seen yet today.” She wasn’t a very friendly nurse.

Since that conversation just a few days ago I’ve added another surgery to my belt. And may have another before the summer is past!

My first surgery was by far the most major – requiring a 6-inch incision and a 10-day hospital stay. However, it was also the least traumatic. Morphine and general naïveté on my part sheltered me from much worry or anxiety.

Going in to my second surgery I was still naive. I had no worries about what the surgeon and nurses were doing to me, nor that it would turn out badly. By the time the simple laparoscopic, outpatient procedure was finished, though, I no longer viewed surgeries as easy affairs.

So, going into my third surgery yesterday – to have my gallbladder removed – I was no longer naive and worry-free. But it turned out to be a much more pleasant experience than I expected.

To start with, the waiting room was not packed with 50 other surgery patients. My first outpatient surgery was performed at a surgery center in a much larger town, and they were serious about packing in as many procedures in one day as they could!

I had barely waited yesterday when a tall, slim CNA came briskly toward me and David. She quietly directed David to stay in the waiting room until I was prepped for surgery, at which time she would bring him back to see me.

She led me to a bathroom with my name on it, gave clear and brisk instructions for me to completely undress and put on a gown, then to pull a cord to call her.

For the next hour I was prepped by the CNA and an RN – asked all sorts of questions (including my full name and birth date several times), taped with several heart-monitor patches, wrapped with ankle cuffs, hooked-up to a heart and oxygen monitor via my finger, and given my very own blood pressure cuff.

Then it came time for my least favorite part – the IV. Thankfully, the RN only had to poke me twice to get it going (after sticking my hand in a warming pad, then flicking it a bunch). But for the first time I realized the scary-ness of getting an IV. It was turning my all-important, closed circulatory system in to an open system into which anything could be introduced!

However, the RN’s manner was very reassuring. Her professional yet kind demeanor was perfect for a pre-surgery nurse – and didn’t make me too worried that she might slip some deadly poison or disease into my system via the IV.

After all this David was allowed back. He cheered me up and made the nurses’ eyes roll with his witty surgery humor.

Then the doctor popped in – all energy and optimism.

Last, the anesthesiologist came in to talk to me.

He was very friendly and kind. I told him about my last surgery and how the anesthetic burned like fire when it went into my IV. He explained exactly what would happen during surgery – how he would send a numbing-agent into my IV before the anesthetic (indeed, I didn’t even feel it go in when the time came); how he would put a breathing-tube down my throat that would cause soreness for a few days; how he would stand above my head the entire time making sure I’m ok and giving me something to help my heart-rate and blood pressure if needed. He was, in a nutshell, great.

Finally, the surgery nurse came in to wheel me away. I kissed David goodbye, then rolled through big doors and down two long hallways.

When we made it to my surgery room, soothing jazz was wafting out of a stereo. I asked if they listen to music while they operate, and the nurse said, “No, only while we’re getting prepped” while turning it down hastily.

I scooched over to the operating table, and was given some relaxant by the anesthesiologist that made me feel like I was swimming. He reassured me again that he would be right by my side the whole time – and his comforting voice was the last sound I heard.

 

Nine Days in a Nutshell

This morning I was lying in a bed in the ER, Emily laying on me as a nurse pulled the stitches out of her lip.

Ironically, this was the very same bed I was lying in two nights ago.

And this was the same bed Emily laid in last Saturday when she got the stitches.

This is just an introductory snapshot of our crazy past 9 days. Here’s the rest:

Last Thursday   Emily wanders off in town while Daddy’s back is turned. He searches 15 minutes for her before recruiting my help, after which we search another 30 minutes! David finally finds her behind a house 2 blocks away petting kittens. Thankfully, we know everyone in our tiny town, and several neighbors helped search. Emily never realized she was lost.

Last Saturday   My grandmother and I leave in our van (with our carseats) for a bridal shower in a nearby metropolis. An hour and a half later, while we are wandering around lost, Emily pulls a chair on top of her and opens a gash in her upper lip. David finds a babysitter for Danny, a carseat, and a car and rushes her to the ER (30 minutes away), while she smiles with a huge gap saying “it’s all better!” She comes home with four stitches.

Last Sunday   Easter! We arise before the sun and head out to a field for our church’s sunrise service. The entire day is beautiful. Nothing of note occurs. (Thankfully!)

Tuesday   I wake up at midnight with the worst pain I can remember experiencing, even worse than when my appendix burst back in 2007. My entire torso seized up and I could barely breathe. I literally pray that I would pass out. A neighbor arrives to watch the kids, and we head out for another 30 minute drive to the ER. Four hours later, I’m released with no specific diagnosis, other than my abdomen is full of scar tissue, so I need to be sure and eat enough fiber. (Embarrassing)

Thursday (Yesterday)   I get to clean my carpet several times. First, Emily opens a bag of flour. Then, Emily empties a can of foot powder. Finally, Emily tips over the potty chair. Yes, it is full of potty.

In the evening, we head to my cousin’s house, where we drop off the kids and go out with two other couples. When we return, Emily is a wreak. She had cried half the night, and had refused to potty in their bathroom. She goes TONS before we left, then has an accident in the van (first time ever!), then goes more at home!

And… Today   A great day. Emily’s stitches come out with no problem and her emotional equilibrium returns; I feel back to normal physically; I’m not forced to do any extra cleaning of my carpets.

And that, my friends, is our past 9 days in a nutshell.

Update!

Here is a fulfillment of a promise: an update on my daughter’s potty training progress!

I wrote about the beginning of this new saga here.  Since that post four weeks ago, I am proud to say that Emily is almost completely potty trained! Nighttimes aren’t happening yet, but the following are some very-exciting milestones she has reached already:

• She is rarely wet after naps!
• She can hold it for longer and longer periods!
• Since last week she’s been using the toilet for her “# 2′s”!! (bribing with candy works!)
• She has never had an accident in the van or in a store!
• She now tells me when she needs to go!
• She now orders me out of the bathroom! . . . even insisting that I “shut de door!!”
• She has a mother who is so proud and pleased that she is freely sharing her daughter’s bathroom details on the internet!

So, there’s the update. Congrats on reading it to the end.

Come and See!

One of my daughter’s favorite phrases is “Come and see!” She’ll often run into the kitchen where I’m working, wave her arm in a vague resemblance of a “come here” gesture, and say excitedly, “COME N SEE!! COME ITH ME!!” I’ll drop whatever I’m doing and follow her, her little legs pumping, to one of the bedrooms down the hall. Almost inevitably, one of her little stuffed animals will be wrapped in a blanket and laying on a pillow, “sleeping.” She’ll go to the animal, gather it in her arms saying “get up!”, and croon over it in a motherly fashion while I say, “so precious!” (Not meaning the animal, however!)

I was listening to a song this morning and heard this same phrase, “Come and see.” I was immediately reminded of Emily, her cute voice and enthusiastic gestures, her delight in sharing an experience with me that brings her such joy. As I listened to the song, I heard of something that has deep meaning for me. So, in the spirit of my daughter, let me also share them with you. Come and see. Come with me.

Come and see, look on this mystery:
The Lord of the universe nailed to a tree.
Christ our God spilling His holy blood
Bowing in anguish His sacred head.

Sing to Jesus, Lord of our shame
Lord of our sinful hearts.
He is our great Redeemer.
Sing to Jesus, honor His name.
Tell of His faithfulness, pouring His life out unto death!

Come, you ill, and He will give you rest
Come, you who mourn, lay on His breast
Christ who died, risen in Paradise
Giver of mercy, giver of life!

Sing to Jesus, His is the throne
Now and forever,
He is the King of Heaven!
Sing to Jesus, we are His own.
Now and forever sing of the love our God has shown!

- Fernando Ortega

Come and see, look on this mystery: Lord of the universe nailed to a tree.

Wow, how my heart is stricken, humbled, filled with gratitude.

And I am asking you to come and see.

Like Philip, when he told the skeptical Nathaniel to “come and see” Jesus, the man he had decided to follow.

Like the Samaritan women who had failed again and again to live up to the standards of the “religious” in her drive to find love, inviting the people of her town to “come, see a man who told me all that I ever did. Can this be the Christ?”

Like the angel telling the disciples to “come and see” the place where Jesus’ dead body used to lay, the body that has risen and defeated our enemy, death.

Like them, I ask you to come and see this Jesus. He is found as I read His very words on the pages of scripture. He is found as I lift my eyes to Him, standing before the throne of God in heaven. He is there right now, praying for me, pleading for me, justifying me to the Father despite my selfishness, pride, weakness, and failure.

He is alive. He ever lives to love me. He loved me enough to die for me.

Come and see, look on this mystery: Lord of the universe nailed to a tree.

Teach Me to Play

– Last Night –

“I’m pretending it’s winter, and it’s snowing. It’s Christmas. And I’m on a boat in the middle of the frozen ocean. So we can’t move – we’re stuck. And we’ll be here many days until the ice melts.”

I tuck my son in securely beneath his covers. “Then you need to stay warm!”

“Yeah.”

I kiss his sleepy forehead and wish him Goodnight.

– This Morning –

“Baby chickens!” Emily is in my bathroom exploring the bottom cupboard. She’s found some white cotton balls, and has proclaimed them to be baby chickens. She gently strokes one on its “head,” then collects about 15 more which she carries around the house tenderly for the next half-hour. They are currently residing in a towel nest in the kitchen with two stuffed birds sitting on them.

“Mom, there’s a tornado coming, and we need to hide!” These are the first words from Danny as he steps foot in the kitchen. “Oh no!” I exclaim, as both kids immediately run and get under the table.

This is what we hear and see all day – exciting – sometimes surprising – scenarios from our children’s’ imaginations.

It wasn’t like this when our first two foster children were here, however.

There were no unexpected tornados approaching our house; no fluffy white baby chicks nesting in the kitchen; no children going to sleep on a ship frozen in the ocean on Christmas. There was a 4-year-old who didn’t seem to know how to play, who needed constant supervision and entertainment.

I had assumed at the time that our 4-year-old foster daughter simply didn’t have an imagination. I hadn’t realized that she’d never been taught to play; that her lack of imagination was due to the fact that she’d always been babysat by the TV and largely ignored by the adults around her. Now in our home, with very little TV and lots of time, she had no idea what to do!

Toward the end of their time with us it finally dawned on me that I could teach them to play! I remember playing in their backyard (yes, this was after they’d gone back to their mom’s) and showing them how to make “soup” out of dirt, grass, and bark, and stirring it with a stick. I was astounded that they’d needed me to show them how to do this. I never remember an adult teaching me how to pretend, but now I realize that someone probably at least gave me a pointer.

Children do have amazing imaginations – I’m learning that with our kids. However, these imaginations only truly flourish under the right circumstances. We can teach our kids to play.

One important way to teach your child to play is to use the TV toward that end instead of as a babysitter. Our first foster kids watched TV mindlessly all day long at their parents’ house; our kids watch a lot of TV, too, but for shorter spurts of time and only shows they are truly interested in watching. What they see then prompts them to play it for themselves.

For instance, for a while Danny loved to watch educational shows about tornados. He learned a lot and they ignited his imagination. He now pretends something to do with tornados every day.

Using the TV to cultivate your child’s imagination also takes some involvement on your part; don’t just turn it on a leave the room, never interacting with your child about what they saw. Obviously, I don’t sit and become engaged in every program my children watch, but I try to make comments or answer questions to help their minds process what they saw.

Of course, books also cultivate your child’s imagination. Read together often; you’ll soon see your child acting out their favorite story.

A second important circumstance in which a child’s imagination can flourish is time. Don’t fill your child’s time with constant activity. Let them be bored a little and learn to entertain themselves with fascinating pretend-play!

Another vital yet amazingly easy way to teach your child to play is to give pointers. Give them a suggestion about how they can use their imagination in another way.

Their kitchen and plastic food can be used as a restaurant; they can take orders on their play phone and drive the food over on their little car.

After running down the hill a few times, suggest he try rolling down it, then jumping over pine cones down it.

When she brings you her stuffed animals, have the animals start talking to one another. A few hours later you’ll see her making the animals carry on a conversation all by herself.

Show him how he can pick up his metal puzzle pieces with his magnetic Thomas crane and put them in a toy truck, drive them to a pile, then scoop them up with his Toy Story claw and process them in the Tri-County Landfill. He’ll be playing this during quiet time for months!

Make a nest out of a towel for her faceless cotton ball baby chicks, and help her find a mommy and daddy bird for them.

And don’t be surprised if as soon as you suggest one idea, your creative child immediately comes up with his own!

It’s so easy to teach your child to play. It doesn’t take tons of effort or time on your part, just a little imagination. And it’s so fun to feel your slumbering imagination stirring slowly back to life as you enter your child’s world of pretend.

 

And So It Begins Again

I have to say, I am very proud that I successfully potty-trained one child (Danny). For awhile before it was accomplished I was afraid I’d never complete the task! (Actually, I literally thought I wouldn’t be the one to do it – at that time I thought he’d be returning to his birth mom)

I learned a lot in the process of potty-training Danny. Basically, I learned a lot because I mostly did it wrong. I pressured; I was disapproving of accidents; I decided he was ready and didn’t wait for him to decide the same thing; I was inconsistent. Ugh, I’m so glad it’s over!

And now it begins again, with Emily. But this time I’ve hopefully learned my lesson and things will go much more smoothly.  (I can hope, right?)

Here’s a little list of my hard-learned potty-training wisdom (i.e., my planned technique for training Emily):

• I will (and already have been) talk (and demonstrate) in a non-pressuring way about how Mommy wears panties and goes potty on the toilet, and someday Emily can, too!
• I will (already have) buy her some panties she would really like: Dora panties!
• I will ask her in the mornings if she wants to wear her Dora panties today.
• If she decides to wear them, I will gently stress that she needs to keep Dora dry, so if she needs to go potty she can go on the toilet.
• On days she wears her panties I will expect many accidents, lots of laundry, constant vigilance, and some inconvenience. I will meet these challenges with a smile, knowing they won’t last forever!
• I will never scold her for an accident. I will simply change her into dry panties after I enthusiastically run her to the toilet.
• I will praise her a whole lot for pottying on the toilet, and for even trying. I won’t discourage her if she wants to sit on it over and over in a short period of time. I won’t try to force her to sit on it against her will.
• I will praise her by saying things like “good job. You went potty!” I won’t use praise that equates her character with her ability to go potty, like “good girl,” or “big girl.”
• I will try to review this list daily because I have a very short memory!!
• And one more: I will take it one day at a time. I won’t expect her to want to wear panties every day, to always be cooperative, or for this to be accomplished in a week.
• Oh, and one more again (this is the last, I promise): I’ll look on this time as a chance to demonstrate gentleness and patience to my daughter, that she is more important than my agenda for her, and that I love her and delight in her regardless of her accomplishments.

So there you have it. (Poor Emily – I hope she never sees this post when she’s older and easily embarrassed! Ah well, at this stage nothing is sacred.)

Last Tuesday this plan began in full when, to my surprise, Emily decided to wear her Dora panties. She wore them all day – from 8 in the morning to 8 at night. She went through about 7 pairs (lol), but she never had a really bad accident and she went potty on the toilet a whole lot! It was a good start to the training. Since then she has worn panties and diapers according to her whim, but has already learned very good control. I’ll keep you posted as to the future.