T.T.T. (Tonsillectomy Times Two)

Yesterday, after we blazed through our first post placement visit with the social worker, we piled into the car to the Southtowne Surgical Center in Sandy to meet Dr. Peterson and the wonderful staff awaiting to poke, slice, and prod our baby girls to remove their tonsils. The day before I was on the phone with the nurse telling her I didn't think the 6 year old should have them taken out, that now she was exhibiting cold/allergy symptoms and that the risk seemed too great. Frankly, I was scared. The 8 year old has had strep 9 times in the last year. She's been on antibiotics an average of every 6 to 8 weeks. That is not a good thing for a growing girl. I was resigned to her having them pulled. The 6 year old, on the other hand, had 2 cases confirmed and 1 over the phone-your sister has it, you have symptoms and your in Oregon-call in case. She was the one that when the dr looked at her, said it's up to you, I recommend it, but it's really up to you. Both of them were up to me. How do you say yes please, please risk their little brains and bodies under anesthesia and put me into a state of emotional turmoil at the thoughts of all the risks that this "routine" surgery has to offer. Yes please, but wait, don't let me sign up once, let me risk BOTH of my children. Are they on crack? Am I on crack? Let me tell you, by the end of yesterday, I was wishing for the crack. Not necessarilly the drug, but maybe a big one in the earth that I could politely Lipton Ice Tea plunge into and disappear for the next little while. No crack of either kind came. What did come was an unexpectedly calm 6 year old who held the anesthesiologists hand with her bubble gum flavored nose piece for sedation in her other hand. She just walked off with him, so trusting, turned to wave bye mom I love you as I turned my head to cry. I wanted to run after her and change my mind soooo badly, but I didn't. I was distracted by the recently sedated screams of the 8 year old that she did not want to go and she was scared. How do you comfort your child when you're scared too? As James kept saying, you suck it up, suck it up. So, I plastered my suck it up face on and kept putting my fingers through her hair as we watched Charlotte make the webs that saved the pig from being the centerpiece of the Christmas table. The whole time I'm thinking I want to save my little innocent creature from this chopping block that they keep calling "routine". I didn't. I sucked it up. She sucked it up. We all did. Rory came out of her anesthetic coma the same way she went in, willingly. Unfortunately, Chloe did also and when they finally let me in the room to see her, she was shivering, there was blood everywhere and she was crying for me. My heart was breaking, but again, suck it up. She had ripped her IV out in her flailing for consciousness and in turn, her airways became constricted and they had to administer some kind of breathing treatment after she coughed out more blood than what looked to be normal. She was ok, but we had to wait a very long time to leave.
So, we're home now. They're medicated on the dime-it's time for another round. I'm the barkeep of this popsicle/ice cream tavern and duty is calling.
Day 1-the cartoons are still interesting, the breath still stinks, they're still in their pj's from yesterday, and the ice cream is still a novelty. Only 13 more days to go....Happy Summer!