While yesterday held among the least complicated surgeries for Timothy, it proved to be one of the most difficult days for me. Let me explain . . .
Teressa finally fell asleep at 3:30am and I woke up at 3:30am and couldn't get back to sleep. One would think surgery would become easier for mom and dad, but it doesn't. Emotions churn.
We hailed a cab at 6am and were in pre-op by 7am. All was going smoothly until it was time to sedate. Timothy wasn't having it.
Seven people held him down and he fought them all off. Medicine was placed in his mouth and he spit it out. No go. The doctors told us he is at the age where he knows just enough to know something's coming . . . but not at the age to know what's coming is good for him in the long run.
After a brief huddle, the doctors came up with plan B. Next thing I knew, I was dressed in scrubs and carrying Timothy into the operating room.
The plan was for me to hold Timothy in my lap on the operating table while he would be asked to "blow up the blue balloon" through a mask. The old balloon-gas switcheroo.
The moment we entered the O.R. the entire mood changed. Folks were all business, as they should be. I sat down on the operating table, put Timothy on my lap and held his arms against his chest. On went the mask and he began to breathe. After a few seconds, I could hear and feel him let out a muffled scream, and then my son went totally limp in my arms. The medical staff directed me to gently lay him down on the table.
As I stepped back, I could see Timothy's eyes rolled back into his head. Then, someone took the place meant for a father, and I was gently escorted away.
Although I knew Timothy was in the best human hands possible, I cannot articulate how unnatural it was for me to leave. On the outside I complied . . . on the inside I revolted.
No sooner than I walked through the doors, I crashed emotionally. I could not put two words together without weeping.
I'm thankful for my wife. She was the strong one, as for the next hour, I cried. We sat, I cried. We walked, I cried.
On the way to get things settled in Timothy's room before he arrived, we "randomly" ran into Joe (Timothy's physical therapist who got him walking after his spine surgery). I made my best attempt to keep it together, but Joe could sense I was struggling.
Joe is a brother in the faith and a devoted follower of Christ. We have shared in many conversations about the Gospel, and sensing my need to be reaffirmed in Christ, Joe asked if he could pray with us. Joe led us into a room, and simply prayed over my wife and I -- reminding us of our Father's sovereignty and care. I know beyond any doubt that Joe was God's provision for us in such a weak moment. Thank you Joe -- and thank you Father.
Soon after we went back to the waiting room, we were called to post-op. Timothy was out.
The doctors warned us: the way a patient goes down is the way the patient will come out. They were right. Timothy went down swinging and he came out swinging!
Among his first words were, "Somebody call me a cab. I'm leaving!" That was followed up by, "Stop talking and get me a pair of scissors so I can cut my cast off" and "You better let me go by the count of three -- 1 -2 -3!" Seeing no results, he resorted to holding his breath. Classic.
Once we were able to redirect Timothy's energy toward meeting the qualifications for being discharged (and a touch of morphine), he became more manageable. His objectives were simple: drink, eat, and pee.
Surprisingly, by 4pm on the day of surgery, Timothy had done all he needed to do to get sprung. One more hurdle: physical therapy.
Timothy was given a walker and while giving it a whirl, he banged his foot and blood started dripping out of his cast. Not good.
The surgeon was summoned, and after inspection, all was deemed incidental. After consulting with the surgeon and therapist, we decided the best course of action is a wheelchair for four weeks.
All in all, we were told we would be in the hospital for 3 days, yet we got out in 11 hours. We were told Timothy would walk out when he left, yet he wheeled himself out. That's a wrap.
A special thank you to the many people who prayed for our son, and for the expertise and grace of the staff at Shriner's. God goodness on display.
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