Within a few days, we came to the conclusion that we, as all parents would attest to, wanted nothing but the best for our daughter and that God was truly leading us to allow the surgery at this age. What happened next was nothing any parent should have go through in a lifetime.
The morning Friday, June 27th, 2002, a warm and bright day, we arrived with Beth's parents in tow and waited at the local children's hospital and after signing dozens of waivers and medical forms, we were called back to triage to have Julie's vitals taken, allergy information, and Q&A with the nurses. Remember, we had no idea what to expect, didn't get any kind of orientation ahead of time, and the demeanor of the staff was, let's say, cold. So, after getting all the "stuff" taken care of, it came time for the anesthesiologist to come in and answer any questions we may have. Of course, we peppered him with how nervous we were, and how Julie was showing signs of being very worried. His answer; let's give her a mild sedative that will calm her down.
Even though Julie was only four, it was made very clear to us that the liquid tasted horrible. I've seen pug puppies with prettier faces than the one our daughter showed us and oh, the sounds that came out of that mouth would make you want to sour your own face as you vicariously tasted it too. Within seconds, our scared daughter went from anxious, to catatonic! What started out as laughter and smiles as the medicine took its affect ended with a child being picked up by the surgical nurse as if lifting a sack of potatoes with cold, blank eyes staring back at us as this frightened girl attempted to make consonant and vowel sounds that could possibly be words. Beth and I stared at each other then back as the nurse walked back to the surgical suite with our daughter staring back at us motionless, yet clearly scared and feeling abandoned. Neither one of us spoke. But we both did look down at the ground as our hearts sank in guilt wondering if we did the right thing. The answer came less than three hours later.
You see, the nurse came to see us just shy of two hours into the morning to talk to Beth and I along with her parents to say everything was going well and that Julie would be back in recovery shortly. She went on to explain that they would let us back the moment she wakes up from the anesthesia. So far, so good. At about three hours, we finally were ushered back to the PACU. As we turned the corner of the thin cloth separating one bed from another and looked up from the foot of the bed to the top we saw our daughter. Both Beth and my body went numb as we scanned each arm and saw what could only be compared to the torture instruments used during the inquisition. Leather straps had been bound to her frail wrists and then cinched tightly to the sides of the bed rail. Words escaped us as we saw a board taped up her left arm. Somewhere in the blinding white of heartache we heard the nurse explain that Julie came out of the anesthesia before they could come and escort us back to her bedside and was very agitated. She went on to state that she could not control Julie and that she was rubbing her eyes too much. She ended the litany of issues they had with Julie by saying, "so we put her under again with more sedatives until we could bring you two back." We had no idea what to expect next.
We both looked at each other incredulously as we waited in silence for Julie to wake up. Within several minutes, the stirrings of a child loaded with adrenaline, fear, anxiety, and absolute terror started tearing through the soul of our child. Never have I felt so much strength and energy from such a small person. The nurses told us to expect her to be very strong, but nothing would have prepared us for this struggle. What they didn't realize was that a child is clever enough to adapt to their situation and improvise to find solutions to problems. The problem; Julie couldn't bring her hands to her eyes to rub them. The solution; bring her eyes to her hands! She would bend her body in half at her hips and pursue rubbing her eyes by moving her head back and forth across her hands. Simple, yet clever problem solving at such a young age.
We marveled at our weakness as much as we marveled at Julie's strength as we played tug-o-war with her arms while verbally making poor attempts at talking reason and logic to a child completely immersed in the feeling that something was wrong. "Someone has done something to me and I'm terrified," is most likely what was going through her mind.
After what felt like hours of pushing her head back while pulling her hands away from her eyes, she finally came out of the anesthesia enough that she would obey us and listen to our pleading. "Julie, mommy and daddy are right here and you did very well with your surgery. Can you promise us that you will not rub your eyes, please?" With an exhausted nod, we knew she was finally able to listen, process the words, and follow through. It wasn't long after numerous calming assurances to her that she really did good during the surgery and that the doctor was very pleased with the outcome that the nurses knew it was okay to remove her arms from the restraints and take out the IV. Once the IV was pulled it was a relief to Julie and us that the board strapped to her left arm could also be removed as it was merely protection for the catheter.
After a few more minutes, the nurses allowed Beth to pick Julie up and walk her over to a rocking chair to "watch The Lion King." Immediately it went through our mind that as we looked at her antibiotic gel smeared eyes, "How in the world is she going to be able to watch anything with that goop in her eyes?" And then after a few supportive words were exchanged with Julie and her approving nod, the worst words a parent could ever hear came out of her mouth.
"Mommy, I can't see."
You could have heard a mouse walk across a polished marble floor for minutes after she said this as Beth and I looked at each other as if to reaffirm and justify our guilty feelings as we handed our daughter over to the surgical nurse some three hours before. Beth asked some probing questions like, "Do you mean you cant' see at all or is it blurry?" Julie would reply that it's blurry and our hearts came back from our ankles and into our chest as we realized it was because of the antibiotic ointment in her eyes. "Sweetie, that's because there is some healing stuff in your eyes to keep the germs out and it's making you see blurry. It will go away soon, okay?"
"Okay, mommie. I'm really tired."
"I know, honey, and we're gonna take you home as soon as the nurses say it's okay."
After checking Julie's basic vitals and making sure the eye patch was in place, the discharge nurse explained to us that Julie would still be a little groggy the rest of the day and should be very careful not to touch her eye, do any strenuous playing, merely lay down, rest and be sure we put the antibiotic ointment on her eye every day twice daily. We agreed to do so and signed the forms to get out of there, said goodbye to the grandparents and we were off to the house.
By the time we arrived home, Julie had almost fully recovered from the side effects of the anesthesia, or so we thought. We told her that it would be best to lay down on the couch and relax while mommy and daddy took care of her. Of course, to a four year old that is equal to a torture sentence.
We played some of her favorite videos, such as "Bear and The Big Blue House," and let her sip on her favorite drinks and nibble on Goldfish crackers. All of a sudden, Julie wanted to get up and go to her play room to grab a toy and, being the over protective parents we are, watched her jump off of the sofa and begin to fumble her way to the living room, yelled, "No, Julie!" We were so loud it startled her and as she was about to fumble and hit the wall from her imbalance due to the drugs wearing off, she cried as if we had caught her doing something wrong.
Of course we apologized to her and calmed her down, but the calm was merely the precursor to the storm to follow..............at bedtime.
