Operating Room 25

Andrew and I tag-teamed this post. Thanks to Andrew for being my editor and now my co-author! 

The actual surgery started around 12:30 and will last 4 hours, give or take.  The goodbye went well for the most part, although it felt rushed at the end. Oliver was so tired of waiting, he was in a crib from 6:30-11:00 this morning.  He didn't know what he was waiting for, but we did (thank God for that)...

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Andrew carries Oliver from the processing area through a long labyrinth of corridors.  We chase the nurse assistant, who is pulling Oliver's crib towards "Operating Room 25".  As we pass other rooms, we  glimpse other surgeries in progress (a somewhat surreal experience).  As we arrive at the outer door of "25", the room is still in clean up mode from that previous night's emergency. They mop the floor, clean the operating table, take down the X-rays showing a spinal compression, and start the switchover to Oliver's set-up.

The nurse tells us, "You don't want to look in there".  We both have the same instant thought: "You are so wrong." We want to watch it all, every second (even if we really shouldn't).

Oliver is now back in the mobile crib, bouncing around and intermittently pleading with us to break him out of this place.  He even offers up a few wet kisses through the crib bars, which we gladly accept.

The anaesthesiologist finally comes out of the room and says they are ready.  Really?  Ready to handle this little guy?  We walk into the OR, and Andrew sits on a chair next to the operating table with Oliver in his lap.

They want to give him the gas right away.  Not yet, we want to say something to Oliver...what can we say to him that would matter at this point?  Andrew whispers "Love you buddy" in his left ear as the mask is already in place.  The gas is on, and Oliver is breathing deeply in no time.  He counts "One, two, three..." just like he is doing his twice daily breathing treatment.  He knows this drill.  Only this time, it is different.  His breathing slows and the "snore" begins abruptly as his eyes roll back in his head.  It is not the sweet, beautiful last image we envisioned with him, but he is off to "la la land".  He is immediately transferred to the OR table, and we have worn out our welcome.  The local "O-Team" has many hours of work ahead of them.

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So now we wait. We are babysitting this pager they gave us. We've kept ourselves busy and haven't had much time yet to dwell on what is now beyond our control. We are praying constantly and trusting Oliver to the hands of world-class medical professionals, and most importantly, the hands of the Almighty God.

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