Max is in surgery, and Tom and I are camped out in the waiting room. We've created our little nest, and we're trying to keep ourselves occupied. We've visited with other parents, took a walk, ate some lunch, and we're still waiting. We probably have another hour and a half or so before he's out of surgery, then another 45 minutes to an hour after that before we can see him in the PICU.
So far, everything is going as expected. The bronchosopy was done quickly. Our ENT, who I really like, was replaced by a doctor with absolutely no bedside manner. He was very condescending and I was glad that 1) he wasn't our regular doctor and 2) that his part in the surgery was so minor. The neurosurgeon is also done with his part of the surgery, and said that everything has gone well. The nurse calls from the OR every hour and a half, but all she tells me is that his vitals are good and that things are "moving along." He has had a blood transfusion, although she couldn't tell me how much.
Things this morning went as well as could be expected. Max was sweet and happy, and only started getting visibly frustrated just before they took him for surgery. He was so hungry, and just couldn't seem to understand why I wasn't feeding him. A sweet child-life specialist bought us about an extra half hour by giving us some bubbles to blow for him.
Giving my baby to the anesthesiologist was the hardest thing I have ever done in my life. Neither one of us were prepared for the flood of emotion, and I still don't think I'm ready to talk or blog about it. The only way I'm making it through is by not thinking of it in too much detail.
I'm glad everything is going well, and I'm glad that it will be over soon.
And I can't wait to see my baby.