Posted by: Jamie Stamm | January 22, 2009

My daughter is amazing

Sorry I didn’t get a chance to update yesterday. I thought cuddling on the couch with my little girl was a bit more important 🙂

Cera’s surgery went very well. She was so brave as she donned her hospital gown and cap and disappeared behind the operating room doors with a nurse she had met only moments before. Forty-five minutes later (which was much shorter than the hour to hour and a half we’d expected), the doctor was back in the waiting room, telling us that Cera’s adnoids had been even bigger than anticipated. He told us her hearing should improve immediately.

A few minutes later, I was back in recovery with Cera, holding her as her anasthesia wore off. She was crying and shaking and her eyes were glazed over. She didn’t know where she was, and she couldn’t get comfortable, tossing and turning as she tried to find just the right way to curl up in my lap. In the process, she knocked the IV out of her hand, and blood spurted all over her and all over me (thank goodness, she doesn’t remember that part). I hated seeing my baby so confused and in so much pain. I felt helpless.

But eventually, Cera calmed down, her eyes focused and she welcomed the orange freeze pop the nurse brought her. She started talking, noting that she was pretty sure they gave her bubble gum-scented gas to put her to sleep instead of the strawberry she had requested. As Cera took the final bites of her treat, a nurse started going through check-out procedures with me. It was almost over. We were going home.

And then it happened.

Again.

“Ma’am,” the nurse said. “Are you OK, ma’am?”

“I’m fine,” I replied, trying to quell the dizziness that had overcome me with a wave of my hand.

“Are you sure, ma’am? You’re getting really pale.”

“I’m fine,” I repeated. “But could I get something to drink?”

Someone put a Coke in my hand, I took a sip … and that’s all I remember before waking up to the jolt of smelling salts and my husband standing before me with a look that was a cross between concern and amusement.

“I can’t wait for you to tell your mom about this one,” he grinned.

I have no idea what caused me to faint, nor why it happened as we were checking out and not when there was blood streaming from Cera’s hand. The nurse guessed that by that point, the stress of the day had just eaten away all the sugar in my body, leaving me weak. I bet that’s what they tell all the moms who black out in the recovery room. All one of us, that is.

Luckily, Cera was unphased by my little incident. Guess that’s what happens when you already know your mom is crazy.

Anyway, we made it home and settled Cera in on the pull-out sofa in the living room. She immediately asked for a popsicle, then another and has been subsisting on frozen treats and Jello since (she tried chicken soup last night but said she didn’t feel quite ready for it). She’s drinking plenty of fluids and taking her medicine, even though the taste makes her gag. And she’s slept pretty well, taking naps here and there and sleeping most of last night.

The only real problem came around 6:30 this morning when she woke up crying from the pain in her throat. It had been almost eight hours since she’d taken her pain killer, and Jerry held her as I coaxed her into alternating sips of medicine and fruit juice. She fell right back to sleep.

We all are noticing how much Cera’s hearing has improved already. In fact, last night, she came out of the bathroom with her hands over her ears.

“What’s wrong?” I asked, fearing her ear tubes were causing her pain.

“I never realized how loud the toilet is,” she said.

Several times she has asked me to turn down the volume on the TV, and she now needs almost complete silence to fall asleep. Her sense of hearing is unbelievably heightened, although I think it will adjust as days go by.

Cera also has noticed that her voice sounds different. It could be from her stitches, but we also were told to expect that her tone could change, considering how much space has been created in the back of her throat. And the doctors had to remove one of her loose teeth in the course of surgery, so she’s also dealing with a huge gap in the front of her mouth as well.

I really have been surprised at how well Cera’s recovery is going, although the nurse warned me that days three and four are usually the worst. Right now, though, she’s content to watch DVDs, read books, play board games and snuggle with her Mommy and Daddy. I couldn’t ask for a better patient – or a better daughter.

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