Cut and Pasted

First of all, thanks for all the emails and phone calls of support. It really feels nice to know that so many people love Milo and were thinking of him.

Obviously, everything went fine. But as I have already told a few of you, neither of us were at all prepared for how hard this day would be. I have a new respect for parents whose kids are in and out of the hospital for surgery or serious illness. While we were there, we saw so many kids who were so much worse off than our little guy, and who obviously spent quite a bit of time in the hospital. It made me appreciate good health and not take it for granted.

But this day was hard, hard, hard. No one tells you how hard it is when your hungry little boy looks up at you and says “cheese?” and you can’t feed him anything even though he has had nothing to eat in 18 hours (surgery was delayed 2 hours, so we were in the hospital for 4 hours trying to distract Milo from his sleepiness and hunger). No one can prepare you for how you will feel seeing your baby hooked up to machines in a big hospital bed, or how totally helpless you feel when he awakens disoriented, upset, and in pain, and to realize that you have absolutely no idea how to comfort him at this moment. The strangest thing is to realize that your baby really does have his own personality, and to realize this because it dawns on you that he is just not himself.

Okay, sorry for being depressing. It really was a hard day. Andrew went with Milo this time into the operating room while he was being put to sleep. I will go next time, although I’m not so sure it sounds like a lot of fun after seeing Andrew’s face coming out of there! But I have plenty of time to prepare for that moment. The next (and final) surgery won’t be until after the new year.

Any light stories from today? Well, Milo charmed the pants off the nurses and other parents and kids in the hospital, especially when around hour 3, I took him into the hallway to burn off some steam when we realized we were not going anywhere anytime soon. Please imagine a very small young Bum in stripey socks and a hospital gown jimmy-rigged to fit him because it was WAY too big (and pink, to boot) running down the hallway waving at everyone he passed. So, so cute. At least he brought a smile to some sad faces. Well, here. You don’t have to imagine too hard.

Milo is sound asleep (and heavily drugged) in his crib right now, as I plan on a long night of paranoid check-ins to make sure he is still alive. Tomorrow we will take it easy and enjoy lots of Elmo and books and snuggles.