Brave

The calls from the OR continued hourly.  On the 3rd one, the nurse told me, "Based on what I can see, we have a couple of hours to go."  To me, this meant that something was not going as planned.  The "what ifs" started swirling in my head.

The final OR call advised me that they were "just about to close him up."  Again, enter the unwanted visual, this time of my son being stitched back together.  By the time the doctor came in to talk to us, 5 hours had passed. 

Both parts of the surgery were successful, though the Mitrofanoff was not able to be placed below Ari's belt line as we had discussed.  It would have been ideal to hide the stoma, but his anatomy did not allow for it, so it was created through his belly button.

Larry and I waited in his room.  How did I forget how awful this is?  He is in so much pain... it's almost unbearable to witness.

"You will get better." I told him, holding his hand.

"I know." he answered in a hoarse whisper, his eyes sad, but understanding.  He is so, so brave.

As Larry and I stood over Ari's bed, I looked up at my husband and could see the love and concern in his eyes. We were both thinking the same thing... How much more can our son endure?

"I almost passed out when they showed us his incisions." He confessed to me.

"It's okay," I replied, "I came pretty close to puking."  "I wonder what they'd do if both parents bottomed out?" 

"I don't know, but I'm glad that didn't happen."

"Yeah.. me too."

It's a typical conversation for us.  The only thing we know for sure is it's going to be a L-O-N-G night.  I had better get some rest while his pain meds are on heavy rotation.