Post-Operative Abigail

Abigail's tonsils and adenoids are no longer in her body. Wednesday, August 31, Abigail had them removed at Altru Hospital in Grand Forks, North Dakota by Dr. Greg Lapp. We dropped off Suzanna and Hillary at our friend Jennifer's home for the morning, and when Susan was inside with the girls, Abigail told me in the van, "My tummy feels joyous" (she was in a good mood for her surgery). Susan, Abigail, and I were at the hospital before 7:45 A.M. Abigail brought Pink Blanky (yes, her name for her pink blanket) and Bobo (a stuffed monkey), too, for moral support.

Abigail had been very excited about her tonsillectomy/adenoidectomy ever since it was initially scheduled, so she was an excellent patient that day. We checked her into Same-Day Surgery where she responded very politely and enthusiastically to all their questions. They put an I.D. bracelet around her ankle and then sent her to wait in the kids' play room until the doctor was ready for her (Susan and I had to sit next door in the boring adult waiting room).

Finally we were called back to a room where Abigail changed into a hospital gown and a surgical bonnet ("Cool!") and hopped onto a bed on a trolley. Some nurses showed her the mask she would breathe from in order to fall asleep before the surgery, and they let her choose a flavor of chapstick (her choice: raspberry) to smear inside the mask so that that would be what she smelled as she drifted away. The anesthesiologist introduced himself, told Abigail what would happen, and asked if she had questions. Unfortunately, he was from India and spoke with a heavy accent that Abigail apparently couldn't crack; the dumbfounded look on her face as he spoke and her simple nod at everything he said (even at "Do you have any questions?") were priceless.

She was asked multiple times throughout the morning by numerous people, "Do you have any questions?" and she always answered "no." The final time, though, she did ask the surgical nurse if it would hurt to have her tonsils removed. Susan and I were suddenly heartbroken. Then they wheeled her away from us, and we both felt like crying. What were we doing to our little girl?! I told Susan, "Just think what torture it must be for parents whose children are having really serious surgeries."

We were very relieved when the doctor came to us in the waiting room about 45 minutes later to say that everything had gone just as planned. Not too long after that, we were allowed to join her in the recovery room. She was coherent but groggy and told the nurses that it hurt "just a little bit." She had an I.V. in her left hand wrapped under a bandage, her voice was incredibly high, and she winced with every swallow of ice water. She ate a few bites of flavored gelatin (not Jell-O) and, later, an entire popsicle. Mostly she was uncomfortable and didn't know whether she wanted us to hug her or leave her alone.

After they gave her Tylenol with codeine, she was able to take a brief nap. When she woke up, she was wide awake, energized, and ready to leave the hospital. We had to wait until her I.V. had mostly run out, and she got impatient. Suddenly she wasn't feeling pain, she wasn't talking particularly strangely, and she was her normal bubbly self. When she hopped off the bed to use the bathroom, she first did a little dance, looked down at her legs, and told us, "Yep, they still work." On the way back from the bathroom, the nurse held the I.V. bag, but Susan wasn't allowed to hold Abigail's hand; instead, Abigail had Susan hold shut the hospital gown so that people wouldn't see Abigail's panties. Back at her bed, Abigail noticed my impatience, too, and told me, "Read your book. That'll keep you amused." I questioned her use of the word "amused," and she responded to my prompts with, "Well, I'm not amused at all" and "I wish I had something along to amuse me."

She was so polite to all the nurses during check-in, pre-op, and post-op (both when she was feeling awful and when she was feeling better) that they decided they wanted all their patients to be like her. She got a wheelchair ride to the parking lot, and Daddy carried her the rest of the way to the vehicle. That marked her fourth stay at Altru: for her birth (emergency C-section), for an infant surgery to open a tear duct, for a respiratory virus (a few nights' stay) when she was a year-and-a-half, and now for tonsillectomy/adenoidectomy at age six.

She went into the pharmacy with Susan to pick up the pain relief prescriptions, and she was so energetic that the woman behind the counter assumed she was the well sister helping out her Mommy for the sister who had just had surgery! Throughout the next few days, the pain worsened, though. She stopped opening her jaws to speak and even stopped speaking if she could figure out a way to pantomime what she wanted. She would grasp our hands and squeeze every time she had to swallow. She would let her saliva pool in her mouth and swallow it all at once infrequently rather than have to swallow at a more often, regular pace. She wanted cuddling a lot more, but she couldn't always decide from whom or for how long. It's been hard to get food into her--and to keep it in. However, this morning began with her gulping down an entire glass of water and making plans for the day, so maybe she's on an upswing now. Let's hope so. It's so hard to see her feeling so awful.

Her grandpa, aunts, and uncles on Susan's side have all called and e-mailed to see how she's doing and cheer her up, and many of our friends and my coworkers have sent her e-mails or well wishes via me, too. The doctor told us to expect her to feel back to normal within a week, and for the scabs in the back of her throat (pretty image, huh?) to be gone by the week after that. Then she can return to normal play, food, and exercise at school. We hope that she won't suffer any longer from the incessant sore throats that plagued her throughout past winters.