My little man is perfect. His eyes are not. He has been wearing glasses since March to correct his farsightedness and misaligned eyes. We had hoped that the glasses would re-align his eyes over time. They helped, but his eyes still are not perfect. The only other option . . . is surgery!
What could be more gruesome than surgery around the eyes. Eyes are so fragile, I am reluctant to even touch them much less get surgical instruments near them. Vision is my favorite sense: I am frightened to think that little man might lose his. Taking the risks for what they are, very low in fact, we chose surgery.
My wife tried to explain to him what would happen the morning of the surgery. He had no idea. All he knew was this: we woke up early, he couldn't eat or drink anything, we took a car ride, and he got to play with two new trucks (that the hospital gave him). After he was all comfortable in his hospital jammies and hanging with the nurse, the surgical nurse whisked him away.
We waited. In my head, I could see the doctor telling me that the surgery went great and little man was fine. My wife's imagine was more pessimistic. The surgery takes a half hour and we both thought it would seem like an eternity. Strangely, it seemed like no sooner than we sat down, the doctor was ready to give us the news. Just like I imagined, everything went great and little man was fine. Whew! We had to wait another ten minutes for the nurse to get little guy ready, but those ten minutes went by like the blink of an eye (no pun intended, eye blinking is just really fast!).
Little man was completely limp. His head, arms, and legs were dangling down like he was a sock monkey. His eyes were covered in shiny, goopy stuff. He had an IV taped to his arm. They weren't taking any chances, the tape covered almost his entire arm and hand. A really flat thermometer was stuck to his forehead, and the rest of his face was red from where they secured him for the operation. His eyes had bloody spots on them and a trickle of blood flowed from his tear duct. It was great to see him!
My wife nursed him and when he started to perk up, we went home. Little man is indestructible. Though his eyes were swollen and he was slow and woozy from the anesthesia, he still went after his "butaa" (blue truck) and "schoo bu" (school bus). First he tried to walk. He fell to his knees. Then he crawled. Finally, after an hour of all the movement he could muster, he was just too tired and laid in our arms. That was two days ago. His eyes are still swollen and he hates his eye drops, but he is mending. My wife can now add "nurse" to her resume. Someday, many, many years from now, little man may not need glasses anymore.
Tagged: personal stories