Dental Surgery

We head to Children’s Hospital for Matthew’s dental surgery today. We had a big round of scheduling mishaps last week (first they confirmed, then they cancelled, then they put us back on the schedule) so we ended up with an 11am arrival time, which isn’t terrible but it’s also not ideal.

One challenging thing about surgery for me is not being able to give Matthew a bottle when he wakes up in the morning. For an 11am arrival, he is allowed solid foods until 4am, and then nothing until after surgery. I did get up at 3am and feed him a bottle in the middle of the night, just because I know it’s going to be a long morning until surgery and I wanted to give him a little middle-of-the-night nourishment.

It’s also just hard to see your child on the operating table and know that for two hours, he’ll be intubated and under anesthesia. Surgery today is just work on his teeth—he’ll have two teeth pulled, a cavity filled, a series of extensive x-rays taken, and then probably a cleaning and exam. It’s not the procedure that worries me, but the anesthesia.

Today I will gown up and carry Matthew into the operating room. I’ll lay him on the table and wait with him until the anesthesiologist puts the gas mask over his face and he falls asleep. It usually takes about 20 seconds for him to be totally out, and during that time he’s scared and squirming on the table. When I did this the last time, I just rubbed his arms and legs and sang to him until he was asleep. It’s hard for me—really hard—but it’s also important that I be the last person he sees and hears, so that if my presence or my voice offers any comfort, I’ll be with him.

I hate that Matthew has to go through all this. He’s already transitioned cultures and homes, joined a new family, and worked so hard to grow, learn, and settle in. I’d give anything to let him avoid the fear and pain of surgery too.

But of course I keep telling myself that he wouldn’t be with us without his cleft lip and palate—that the reason for this surgery is also the blessed reason he is part of our family. It’s messy and very un-tidy, but I’m trying to see goodness in surgery today, because I know that his operation gets him one step closer to a more full sense of health in his body.

Thank you for your prayers and thoughts today. My dad will go with me to the hospital to keep me company. My mom will be home with Maya and Sam, and Aaron has a full load of clients to see on Tuesdays, so he’ll join us at home when we get there.

It’s so encouraging to know we aren’t alone going through all these experiences. They certainly aren’t horrible—because they are infused with a deep sense of hope for healing for Matthew—but anything with hospitals and surgeries makes both Aaron and I feel pretty anxious. We are blessed by the support and love of our family and friends.

So thank you.