Home from the Hospital

Wow. What a day.

We didn't have to go in to the hospital for the biopsy at an unholy hour, we got to arrive at 11:30. This was good. I still wasn't 100% sure this was the right thing. The doctors all seem to agree that it is, and I can't think of a logical reason that it isn't, but my emotions still haven't quite settled down. At this point I know logically that it is logically the right thing to do, but my emotions haven't caught up. I need to be strong for my family though. Now is not a good time to show fear, kids can smell that sort of thing. (or was it dogs?)

We arrived on time, and were "checked in". Doug got a little gown (it's still wrong that they have to come in that size) and was weighed, thermometered, blood pressured, and stethescoped. All of which went over about as well as screendoors on a submarine. But he settled down. Then it was off to the waiting room. Lots of toys to play with, and Doug was having a pretty good time - which was another good thing, as surgery wasn't scheduled until 1:10. At about 12:15 or so, they started getting him ready for the anesthetic. They put some cream on his hands, covered them with bandages, and a little gauze glove, and then some tape. Again, this didn't go over well. But hey, it's only for an hour right?

Well, by the time 2:30 came around, we were getting pretty hungry. None of us had eaten since the night before, and there was no sign of our surgery call. Finally we hunted down a nurse who informed us we had been bumped - didn't anyone tell us? So we ran out (in shifts) to grab a bite to eat before we passed out on the floor. By now, Doug was pretty much done with the toys in the playroom, and was into exploring doorways and closets. Fortunately, he was ok with the wrappings on his hands by now. They had become his "Motorcycle Glubs".

Doug went in at 3:30, and while Allison was with him for the "putting under" (they use needles for that, and I didn't want to be the one passing out), I sat and thought. I was still waiting for that big voice in my head telling me that this was 100% the right thing to do. I've known for a long time that parents fake knowing the right thing on a lot of stuff, but I always thought that on the REALLY big stuff they knew what they were doing. I was waiting for that big James Earl Jones voice to tell me "Yes. You have done the right thing" or "Stop that scalpel NOW" or even "Luke, I am your father". Anything but silence. Instead I was left with a bunch of random thoughts, and a sense of being in a strange time warp. Here is where I think I was supposed to learn a lesson. If I were to have let go, and placed my worries at God's feet he would have gladly picked them up and carried them for me. Instead, I clung to them, trying to make sense of things out of my own mortal mind. I wonder how often I've done this without knowing it.

25 minutes later it was finished. Recovery went well, and he showed no signs of being sick from the drugs. The surgery went according to plan too - which was good. He is now at home, resting in bed after putting a pretty large dent in a big can of chicken noodle soup. He has even been running around a bit and climbing up furniture. Kids sure are resilient.

I've rambled a lot now, and I should probably stop while I still am making a semblence of sense.