Phew!

Yesterday was a long day around here. Our NB was born with more than one thing that caught us by surprise.  In addition to his awesome red hair, he also had an extra finger!  While that might have made for neat party conversation one day, it posed some minor risks for getting in the way between now and then.  Extra fingers come in several different varieties and NB's was the most common and least worrisome. In some cases doctors (or grandmas, back in the day) just tie a string around this type while babies are still in the nursery and it falls off without complication.  NB's doctor recommended we let plastic surgery take care of his, and, after looking at it, we agreed that would give the best end result.  So, two weeks ago, DH and I took NB to see the chief of plastic surgery at our local children's hospital (Dr Y). I knew it would be a very minor procedure to have it removed, and hoped, therefore, that it might not require an OR or general anesthesia.  I tried to hold it together at his Dr Y appointment when I learned it would require both.  We trusted Dr Y, and it was his opinion that we'd need very good anesthesia to avoid messy complications.  

So, for two weeks, I have thought and prayed about my littlest boy going to the operating room at just five weeks of age.  While my head knew the procedure would be so short we wouldn't even have time to get breakfast to go, my heart ached at the thought of handing my baby over to strangers and letting them take him away and put him to sleep. I had a hard time putting it to words, but I told DH that I just wanted to somehow explain to everyone in that OR that they had my baby.  My baby is not a case or a procedure you can check off your list.  He is not for practice or trying new approaches.  He is my baby and they had better treat him as such.  I knew I would sound like a fool to say that.  I knew I wouldn't say anything other than "take care of him," but I hoped they would know. 

We had scheduled the procedure for 10 am and arranged for Nanny K to be home with LO.  Two days before his procedure the pre-op nurse called and asked questions.  She confirmed our start time was 9:55, but told me to be sure I called the day before to verify our arrival time.  "It will probably be about 9, but sometimes they change so be sure to call." she'd said.  Fifteen hours before our procedure, my cell phone rang.  I had planned to call about that start time when I got NB fed, but they beat me to it.  The woman identified herself and said she was calling to let us know our arrival time was 6:30 am!  What?!?  When I asked why so early, she replied our case was posted at 7:20 (not 10)!  She had no idea what had happened, but would we be there or did we need to cancel, she asked.  Sorry, ma'am, but I can't, on the spur of the moment, commit to that since our Nanny is at the beach and doesn't think she needs to be here until 8.  After about 20 minutes of stress and panic on my part, DH talked me away from the ledge and guided me to a solution.  We reached Nanny K by text and she agreed to arrive at 6 am the next morning.  

We were instructed to give NB a bath the night before AND the morning of the surgery.  He was also not allowed to nurse after 2:30 a.m.  Somehow we had to get a hungry five week old bathed and out the door without waking big brother (who has had some major sleep problems lately, so we all needed him to sleep as long as he could). Somehow we did. We arrived just a few minutes late, and shared the waiting room with other families waiting for other surgeries.  One mom, dad, and son (about 10 yrs old) shared the same barely-there buzz haircut.  It was clear the parents had shaved their hair in support of their son who had a well-healed scar form a previous surgery on his head.  This family came and went through the same surgery areas we did throughout the morning and they were pros.  It was both sad and inspiring to me that the whole process seemed a matter of routine for them. 

We were called back shortly after our arrival, and they let us choose a toy for NB from the toy chest.  DH had the idea of getting something for LO.   LO consequently scored a cool green matchbox helicopter.  We were then taken to a pre-op room where I could rock NB and answer questions from half a dozen people until time for the OR.  The hardest part about being in that area were the cries of hungry and scared children on either side of us. We had to close to door to maintain our composure.  NB, for his part, rested sweetly in my arms.  He drifted in and out of sleep and sucked on his paci.  The anesthesiologist came in and I was relieved to learn that NB would not be intubated or even need an IV.  At some point in that room, we were asked if one of us would like to take NB back to the OR when it was time.  I jumped at the chance, unsure if one or both of us would be able to go.  

Let me say here that this hospital advertises what they call "family-patient centered care."  Until yesterday I thought of that as mostly a marketing gimmick.  I think most docs direct their care around patients and their families these days.  Some better than others of course, but we don't need to label or advertise it.  I knew this hospital had implemented a few things in the name of "family-patient centered care" but didn't know what exactly.  Now I know at least one thing.

I was allowed to throw on scrubs over my clothes and carry my baby to his OR.  I saw the doctors and nurses ready for the procedure, I made small talk with them while we waited.  I saw the nurses oogle over my boy as if he was the cutest one they'd ever seen.  I was able to talk to and nuzzle NB on the stretcher and I was there as they placed the mask on his face to put him to sleep.  As NB fought a bit against the mask, the anesthesiologist  said "you aren't going to cry on me are you?" and I said I'd try not to.  He then, oh so smoothly (maybe it was his Latino accent?) suggested I bend over to kiss NB and let him know I was still there.  I did and as I came up from that kiss, my baby was asleep.  As I walked out of that room, I knew everyone in that room knew he was my baby, and that made all the difference.  I went back to our pre-op room, took off my scrubs, and exited to the waiting room.  DH literally ran to get breakfast for us while I texted family and friends.  We ate quickly and then Dr Y was out to tell us everything went well.  NB's case officially started at 7:26 am, and he was awake and nursing in the PACU by 8 a.m..  

It was a minor procedure and it went as well as it could have gone.  I feel a bit silly now for having been emotional about it, though I think I shed fewer tears than most might have. I hope this is the only surgical experience we have with our boys.  It was enough.  Thank you to friends and family who kept in touch, wished us well, or prayed for us.  Thank you to Drs Y and F for their skilled work, and the PACU/OR nurses who treated my baby as such.  Thank you to Nanny K for once again arriving at hours most would balk at and doing so cheerfully. You've saved the day enough now that we'll start expecting you to arrive on a white horse soon!  Thanks to DH for holding me together, as always, even when I know it must have been a little hard on you too. 

Here are the before and after shots.  Scarring should be minimal, and we think it will make fine party conversation too one day.

"post-axial duplication" on NB's left hand

Three sutures and two steri-strips where the extra digit used to be