- We don't have to do this, do we? We can just skip it, right?
- This means the end of the ostomy bag! No more poop bag!
- He's so happy; this seems absolutely unfair to him.
- I don't want to do it. I can't do this. I can't either.
- We can do this. We have to do this. He is our strong boy.
And so on, for 20 minutes.
Now, it's 8 hours later. Every one of those hours has flown by. A now has a tube down his nose delivering "Go Lig.htly" to "clean him out". He also has an IV line for fluids. Soon, he will receive antibiotics in the nose tube. We are able to feed him a mix of electrolytes with the bottle until 4am, so he will continually feel full. They will take him around 6am, probably. Surgery is at 730am and will last 2-3 hours. After he is released from recovery, he will come back to the room with us.
Already, much of my anxiety has dissipated. I have somehow faced many of the hospital demons that have been haunting me since this ordeal began. Now that we're here, I'm in the swing of the things. I know how this works (even though we're at a different hospital.) I know about hospital time. I know how to ask for what I want. We know how to advocate for our son. I don't like seeing the tube down his nose (and I couldn't watch them put it in. Thankfully, E was able to stay with him.) I don't like that he is not comfortable, and I really don't like the kid wailing down the hall. The demons, though - they're gone.
This stay is not like last time. There is not the same amount of unknown. No, I don't want to be here, but we are here as a family. We are going through this together, and this time I know my son. We know our son. When it is all over, he will wake up and see the parents that he now recognizes and loves. I'm still anxious about surgery, of course, but I feel a hope that I feared would not surface. We will resume our lives and truly put this behind us. I think I know that now, and it comforts me.