John, Jack and I barely made it to the hospital at 10:15 before they took Amelia to the operating room (traffic – stupid, ice-covered CN Tower). Fortunately for me, John dropped me off before he parked the car, so I was able to walk down to the waiting room with her and give her a kiss goodbye. She was asleep, and I didn’t want to wake her up because she’s so crabby when she’s not allowed to eat. Just after they wheeled her away, John arrived. I felt so bad that he didn’t get to see her.
We then proceeded to the Surgical Waiting Room, which is staffed by members of the Women’s Auxiliary, who are pretty rabid about making everyone follow the rules. The place was pretty packed. Most people’s kids were having shorter procedures than Amelia, but two or three other couples were there for a long time like us. We waited and waited – of course we knew it would be a long wait. My dad dropped by for a while, we had lunch, I fed Jack, he slept, and, actually, the time passed more quickly than I thought it would.
Eventually our surgeon came into the room and took us into a private room to speak to us. He told us that the surgery had gone as expected and was just about finished; they would wait another hour for the bleeding to stop before they decided whether or not to close the incision. One bit of new information was that Amelia’s right ventricle was rather “thick”. The muscle had stiffened up from having to work so hard for the last several weeks, so it doesn’t relax fully. This problem will resolve itself over the next few days as the heart is able to work properly for the first time.
We waited another hour or so and the surgeon came back into the waiting room to tell us that they had closed the incision. In the meantime, John’s parents arrived to help us with Jack. Again, we waited for Amelia to be brought to the PCCU (Pediatric Critical Care Unit). For me, this was the longest wait of the day. I was feeling very tired and quite drained at this point. My dad came back and my sister also came to the hospital to lend us much-needed moral support. Finally, at about 6:45, we were allowed in to see Amelia.
Obviously, there were many tubes and machines connected to our tiny daughter. She is heavily sedated. She needs a ventilator to help her breathe, she has a chest tube to drain fluid, she has an external pacemaker just in case it’s needed. The patch on her head monitors her brain. She has a couple of central lines to deliver medicines and fluids. She’s on three antibiotics, a couple of heart medications, and, of course, morphine. The most grisly sight was two long pieces of surgical thread that were stitched through her chest and suspended to the apparatus suspended above her bed. Because her incision is closed, and her heart is swelling, the threads are pulling her chest wall away from her heart to give it more room. If the incision has to be reopened, it will likely happen overnight.
At first, all we see are the tubes, wires and machinery. Soon, though, we could see our daughter, the person underneath it all. I stroked her head and held her hand and told her that she had been very brave and that she needed to continue to be strong. I believe that she will be.
Melissa
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