Journey to D-Day

I began thinking of November 11 as D-Day. D might be "deaf" or D might be "deliverance".

I was prepared either way, but mightily stressed nevertheless as the day approached.

Ears: A Diary

How did we get here?

Well, first, some backstory. When Ayize was around 11 months old, he had his first ear infection. It was pretty severe, and he got several more before the winter was through. Each time, he would go on a strong course of penicillin that would be curative, but the interim was always an awful, painful disaster for him, and his hearing was extremely affected for several weeks with each infection. It was very disheartening, as his language skills were just developing. New word acquisition became two steps forward, one step back, and Ayize was getting very frustrated. His ears cleared admirably in the late spring of 2009 and stayed healthy all summer, but with the coming of the first chilly weather of autumn, the infections returned with a vengeance. More suffering ensued, from his awful inability to sleep due to pain, to more language setbacks.

The language issues were particularly troublesome now, at a time of rapid learning and acquisition. I remember him adding the word "pumpkin" to his vocabulary permanently this spring, in 2010, and how thrilled I was, because that word had come to symbolize his speech issues for me: he acquired it originally in October of 2009, loved it, said it frequently and appropriately, and then, when an infection struck a couple of weeks later, and he went temporarily deaf from the fluid and negative pressure (as was his pattern with each infection), he lost the word, and was incredibly, visibly, sad and frustrated each time he tried to remember and use it. By the time that infection was diagnosed, treated for two weeks, resolved, and his hearing returning, he had fully lost it as if he never learned it. There were dozens of other heartbreaking moments like these, but the joy he experienced using "pumpkin" in context (it was almost Halloween, so there was plenty of opportunity, and it had made him so proud) symbolized my growing frustration.

I was thrilled that he had the opportunity to spout his favorite quote, complete with sound effects (from an ancient Disney cartoon, where a mean witch is felled from her broom by gnomes who whip pumpkins at her) frequently this Halloween season:

Hee hee hee! Sorry, couldn't resist that clip. I dedicate it to Andy Z, who I know will appreciate it if he sees it!

Anyhow, all total, he had six or seven severe infections. Ear tubes were suggested, but the idea was eventually discarded, as six was sort of the "magic number" according to our clinic, that merited a problem severe enough to prompt the use of general anesthesia on an infant, and by the time he reached that number, he was 23 months old. By two years of age, most children spontaneously stop having ear infections, and Ayize was no different. That hallmark No. 6 did indeed prove to be his last, and though it was a doozy - two weeks after treatment, he still retained some fluid in his ears and tested as completely deaf in his left ear and mostly deaf in his right ear - we assumed it was the last hurrah. We all believed that with the end of the infections, his ears could finally, fully heal, and with their complete resolution to normal health so would a return to normal hearing.

From November of 2009 until September of 2010, he never suffered another ear infection, and he began to conquer his earlier frustrations and add to his vocabulary, albeit at an intensely-slower rate than he had a year ago. But I became concerned as the months went on and his speech remained well behind that of all his same-age buddies.

Still, everyone around me - friends, family, even our clinic - advised a "wait and see" approach due to all the setbacks he'd had to overcome and because of the commonly-held belief that boys speak later. But then I took him in to see his pediatrician recently for unrelated issues (see below), and happened to bring up my concerns. And this is where the story starts...

* * * * *

Wednesday, September 29

Started our day at Lockwood Park with Talya and Kayla.

A very huggable lunch date at Potbellys after.

2:30 p.m. appointment with the amazing Dr. Aimee Crow (bottom right corner) - who I'm convinced is the best pediatrician in the world, hands down. She has been a wonderful mentor along my parenting journey from week three of Ayize's life. We adore her!

The appointment was to check Ayize's funky pinky nail. She told me to expect it to grow out and fall off in the next few weeks, which it did.

I was also going to pick up a standard medical form for preschool while we were at it. I happened to bring up my concerns about his seeming-speech delay towards the end of the visit, and she put in a standing order for another hearing test.

I called as I left the parking lot and was lucky enough to get one for the following day. Then we hit up Penny Park to play with pals.

Enjoyed a chance encounter with our pals Britt and little Wally. This moment inspired much laughter and quips about child labor laws, as Wally is two years younger than Ayize!

* * * * *

Thursday, September 30

Ayize and I walked with my sister, Akari, and my nieces to their elementary school. Then me, Akari and Ayize branched off and played at Independence Park.

At 10:15, we went to the 1000 Central Street building for Ayize's hearing test. Here, the two of them chat about the "fish" in the pond (actually, coins, but we were loathe to correct him).

Our wonderful audiologist, the same one we've seen several times before (who was 8 months pregnant with her first child this time around - hurrah!) was unable to successfully perform the hearing test in the black booth because he was too upset about being back in there. He'd had enough poking and prodding of his ears, between the day before and then today's insults, and he was melting down quick.

Outside the booth, I sat in a chair and held him in my lap while she attempted again. He was still too upset to get an accurate reading, but she did get as far as the left ear, which showed zero sound reception, and a quick read on the right ear (though it was interrupted by another meltdown), which showed very little sound reception - the same results we'd had a year previous. This was dismaying news, in light of the fact that he'd had no infections for over a year. Suddenly, his speech deficits were starting to make perfect sense.

She recommended a visit with our pediatric ENT specialist, Dr. Chen, an old friend from last year, so that we could check for fluid in his ears or other signs of infection or problem that might be causing the deafness. I told her I'd actually already scheduled an upcoming appointment, but that it was not for several weeks (optimally, the appointments would have been back to back, but scheduling conflicts with the two offices would have made that double appointment be off in November or December, so we opted to split them instead for speed of being seen). She also mentioned that he would likely need a brainstem auditory evoked-response hearing test at some point, under general anesthesia at Evanston Hospital.

I was bummed, to say the least, but hoping that whatever was going on with his ears was not some consistent thing, something that had been happening unbeknownst to us all for the past year, but rather some arbitrary occurrence, the result of some mild illness perhaps, and that by the time we saw Dr. Chen, maybe it would all have resolved and made further diagnostics and treatment moot.

In the afternoon, we picked up my nieces from school and had a blast playing with them on the playground.

* * * * *

Wednesday, October 20

Talya, Kayla, Ayize and I drove to Northbrook to see Dr. Chen. Ayize enjoyed the fake grass in the waiting room.

Kayla played with her dolly.

Ayize helped Cat Cat read Owl Babies.

Inside our room, we waited for the doc. Ayize was curious about the screen up above, thinking it was going to bust out Elmo or Mickey Mouse at any moment. Then he started messing with all the display models and almost broke one. I was relieved when the doctor arrived to distract him.

She checked both ears and didn't see much fluid, but she did see some. Worse, she determined that he had an incredible amount of negative pressure in his ears, which was causing pain - she likened the feeling to being on an airplane that's rapidly ascending or descending, with a great build-up of pressure, but without the ability to unpop the ears. She explained that it had probably begun with those first, long-ago ear infections, and remained all this time, with no abrupt end or beginning, which was why he didn't show symptoms of discomfort; he was just used to it.

I was horrified, heartbroken. She and I and Dr. Crow had worked together the year before to come to the mutual conclusion that he was on a path of imminent healing. To discover we had all been wrong was absolutely devastating to both of us.

We commiserated for a moment over how Ayize's characteristic stoicism had had us all fooled, and then she dropped the s-bomb. Ayize needed surgery, as soon as possible, to have ear tubes placed. The eardrums are punctured and small tubes are inserted that stay in place until they fall out, usually 6 - 18 months after placement. They are normally recommended because they allow drainage of any accumulated fluid, and without a moist environment, ear infections cannot develop. Of course, fluid is no longer much of an issue for Ayize, being older, and he had not had an infection in over a year, but the tubes would also serve a far more important purpose: they would "open up" his ears and restore what hearing he still had, effectively providing a sound conduit for him that would remain stable.

But that was the kicker: what hearing he still had. The doctor wouldn't speculate much for me, but after several attempts on my part to coerce elaborations out of her, I got the gist of what she was beginning to believe: that Ayize was potentially hearing-impaired, perhaps even profoundly deaf in his left ear, as the hearing test results had remained that way so consistently. And that he was further possibly hearing-impaired, to a lesser extent in his right ear (the left ear bore the brunt of most of his infections, but the right ear had seen its share as well).

As it was, she said that the results of the tests from the year before, and the test from September of 2010, both added up to the inevitable conclusion that his hearing abilities, for over a year, consisted of no hearing in his left ear and perhaps 20 - 30% hearing in his right ear, and even that ear - due to pressure and occasional fluid retention - would hear everything as if from underwater. Yikes!

The crucial question now was whether these test results were reflecting permanent or temporary changes. And the answer could only be provided through ear tube placement and subsequent hearing tests that specifically measured the brain's response to sounds, while Ayize was under general anesthesia.

Surgery was scheduled for November 11, the first available date where both Dr. Chen, who would be our surgeon, and an audiologist, could see him one behind the other, so as to minimize the amount of time he would need to be kept under.

I left the office in a complete state of bewilderment. So much to process...

Tally and I took the kids to lunch and then to the Botanic Gardens, where they had a great time climbing trees and checking out the model railroad garden.

Later that afternoon, our playgroup convened at Harms Woods.

"Ring around the rosy/pockets full of posy/ashes, ashes...

...we all fall down!"

His participation in this simple game filled me with great pleasure, as I could take some joy out of knowing that for all his hearing impairments, he could at least hear/understand enough to appropriately respond to the words of his favorite game.

* * * * *

Monday, November 1

Back to see Dr. Crow. this time for Ayize's pre-surgical appointment. We combined it with his three-year physical exam to minimize the amount of doctor's visits he would need, and so that he would not have to have his blood drawn twice in two months.

His height was 40 inches (off the charts), but his weight was a mere 28 lbs, 4 oz.

Dr. Crow shook her head, smiling, and pronounced, "Definition of a beanpole!"

Sneaking out into the hallway in his pink pants (he blasted his way through the blue and then the green Bum Genius, all in one one-hour doc visit, so we had to resort to the pinkies LOL)!

Our favorite nurse of all time, Mizz Michelle, bestowed this rocking Thomas the Tank Engine book upon him, and he happily "read" it aloud to me and Jo Jo.

Next stop: upstairs to the phlebotomists for a big blood draw: enough for both his pre-surgical workup and his three-year-old stuff: the basics, plus lead levels, iron levels...you know, the works. He was a damned trooper about the whole thing, I must say! He whimpered, and tears dripped down like a waterfall, but he bravely ate a pumpkin cookie during vials three and four, and received praise from the nurses who compared him to "the last one" who really "had a time of it" and apparently deafened them with his hysterical howls (I had seen this poor boy leaving the lab as we walked in and he really had been the picture of dejection).

Last stop: the ambulatory surgery department, to schedule a pre-surgical pediatric tour. Jo Jo gave Ayize a little table that he could climb up on to see the awesome fish tank.

I snapped this shot looking through the glass at Ayize's exhausted face. Behind him a lady slumbered on one of the waiting room couches. The phrase "anesthesia dreams" kept running inanely through my mind.

You can see his bandage in the crook of his left elbow. Unfortunately, they didn't use one of those "ouchless" band-aids like they have on the Peds ward, so when he ripped it off himself in the car ten minutes later, the tears really did start to flow.

Ayize's favorite fish in the tank - thanks, Jo, for this pic!

This fish was seriously in love with Ayize. And the feeling was mutual. They had a kiss-fest going on that apparently continued the entire time Jo Jo was watching Ayize for me, while I was off scheduling a tour. When we left, Jo had to wipe the glass of the aquarium off with his sleeve - it was covered in toddler lip prints!

Lunch with the fam at Thai Sookdee. Ayize went to town on chive dumplings with red-hot sauce - he has an expansive palate, to be sure!

Afternoon with Talya, Kai and Kayla at the park. Kayla was big-grinning for the camera, then asking to see herself after each picture I snapped. Too cute!

* * * * *

Monday, November 8

Off to the pre-surgical tour! Aunt Akari accompanied us, much to Ayize's delight.

Almost down the last long hallway to the Pediatric ward, when suddenly - with much drama - Ayize dug in his heels.

A moment later, though, he was again up and running. Classic.

At the door to the Pediatric and Adolescent Unit. Memories of our first difficult weeks together, when this place was one of our early homes, came flooding back...as they always do when I see these glass double doors.

Sorrelle (left) was our tour guide. She rocked! We met the very-sweet Brandy (right) on a later day, as you will see.

The Pediatric Prep Program is designed for kids ages 3 and older to introduce them to a lot of the things they'll encounter during their surgery ahead of time. It's supposed to help make the actual surgery day smoother. A really awesome program.

Ayize was one month shy of qualifying, but Sorrelle - being the director of the program - let him slide. She also - on account of his age, and his hearing problems which often cause hyperactivity and other distracting behaviors - gave us the tour herself, specialized it for him (minimizing distractions), and made it private for us only, as she felt other kids would provide even more distraction. I was so grateful!

We watched this slide show about a girl arriving at the hospital, prepping for surgery, and recovering back in the Peds ward.

Then Ayize was encouraged to help us use all these instruments on this funny doll. It was great that he got to see and handle an IV bag and line, needle-less syringes, medical tape, a kiddie-sized surgical gown, surgical caps and face masks, an induction mask, a stethoscope, gauze, a blood pressure cuff, etc. before they would be used on him for surgery. Even better, because he's so hospital-phobic, Sorrelle took almost everything you see in this picture and packed it in a little toy doctor's bag for Ayize and gave him the whole thing to take home so we could continue using it and playing with it over the next few days.

So kind of her!

My favorite thing about the doll was the freaky way a Velcro face flap made her go from awake to sleeping. She was actually a little scary LOL!

We ended the tour in the playroom.

He got way into "treating" these babies.

He especially liked tweezing their heads, ha ha ha! We were totally cracking up.

In the afternoon, we hit up Penny Park with our playgroup.

Ayize totally did the Running Man on the slide!

Back at home, my nieces had come over to play. They were willing assistants in my attempt to brainwash Ayize into thinking medical gear was cool, not creepy.

At first, while "Dr. Madison" put "Patient Sophie" under anesthesia...

...he kept his distance, warily watching us, and wielding this syringe for protection.

But soon, he crept closer, and even assisted by retrieving this IV bag.

He didn't like that we taped it to Sophie's hand, though (perhaps remembering his own many hand-IV experiences from the past)!

He even attempted to try out the stethoscope.

"Doctor Sophie" now gowned "Patient Madison", but when the supposedly-sleeping patient (who happens to be uber-ticklish) shot bolt upright from sleeping position, mid-surgery, onlooker Ayize was visibly alarmed!

* * * * *

Thursday, November 11: The Big Day

7:15 a.m.

On our way to the hospital.

Ayize's most faithful sidekicks - Blankie (not pictured, as it was tucked deep within the backpack), Ghost Bunny (thank you, Trish Trousil), and Cat Cat (thank you, Evanston Animal Shelter) were of course, riding shotgun.

7:20 a.m.

I got plum parking on the top floor. Ayize pushed the handicapped-access button and waltzed right in through the first set of sliding doors, but then paused, a little unsure of himself.

Coolio - two buttons. What can I say - it don't take much to make him happy!

You don't see this sight too often - a tiny tyke hauling ass TOWARDS the surgery ward (I credit the cool fish tank).

7:25 a.m.

I checked him in while he went crazy, bouncing up and down on the waiting room furniture - aye caramba. Before I was done, he had knocked over a plant and almost upended an end table. Oh, and almost boarded an elevator and made his escape (he got as far as pushing the button and getting one foot in before I saw).

The guy at the front desk was laughing.

Boing! Energy to spare.

We were summoned and started the long walk down the hall to the pediatric ward. As if on cue, Ayize did the boneless drop in the same place where he did it on Monday.

And just like on Monday, he was quickly back up and on his feet and running. "I racing you, Mama!"

7:35 a.m.

All was quiet on the Peds ward - even the lights were dimmed. We checked in and Ayize was a whirlwind. I felt so bad, knowing he was waking up lots of sleeping, sick kids.

We were led to our room - 3319 - but our bed was already taken by a wee one, from the looks of the abandoned stroller parked beside it. We were quickly shepherded across the room to another bed (it's a three-bed room), where I dumped our stuff.

I barely had time to reflect on the fact that we were now next-door to 3317 - our long-ago "home" - before Ayize booked out of the room and started down the hall at hyper-speed, hollering about "choo-choos". The lady at the front desk told me it was okay, he could go ahead to the playroom to hang while she paged our nurse.

Our nurse turned out to be the lovely Celeste (in white, above), and luckily we ran into her two seconds before he got into the playroom, or we would never have been able to get him out without a fight. He was super mad that he got soooo close, but allowed me to pick him up and carry him back to yet another nearby room (the one where we screened our slide show a couple days before) for a quick blood pressure check and temperature. This would not have been the case had he already entered and begun playing on their gynormous Thomas the Tank Engine train table!

7:40 a.m.

Getting ready to sit down to get his blood pressure and temperature taken. He was actually crying - well, at least, sniffling and snuffling - but Ghost Bunny helped him be brave, and when he realized no needles were involved, he was way calmer.

Then - finally - it was off to the playroom!

7:50 a.m.

Crazy happy to be playing with Thomas trains. I was so relieved - he was totally relaxing and having a good time. Phew!

8:10 a.m.

After lots of trains, then some books, and then a whole wall of noisy toys...

...we had made our way to the toy kitchen. He was having an awesome time "cooking" - the only sucky part was that all the fake food kept reminding him that he was starving hungry.

Whoa! We're here for ear surgery - don't want to add broken limbs to the mix too, dude!

8:25 a.m.

My sister, Akari, arrived - hurrah! - and played with us, too. Shortly after, we were hailed. Our transporter was coming in five minutes, so we had to coax Ayize away from all the toys and down the hall back to our room (easier than I thought, amazingly - he came willingly, and even tried to clean everything up until I assured him it was okay to leave our mess behind) undress him, get him changed into a big, dry diaper, socks and a surgical gown, and get his bracelet on.

It's tight, but we just managed, about a minute after our guy arrived.

Surgery was scheduled for 8:50. Twenty-five minutes to go.

He was not digging his hospital bracelet (never does).

8:35 a.m.

We took a long walk to the surgery ward. Ayize was totally complacent about the whole thing except a few feeble protests that he wanted to walk himself (I couldn't let him, as our transporter was walking super fast and we would have lost him for sure). My sister just about snuck into the holding room with us, but he nixed her at the last moment. Drag.

She went off to the lounge to wait and Ayize and I were ushered into this little room for kiddos off a main room where all the anesthesiologists apparently hung out (I saw about seven).

He was super sleepy after all the morning's activity and told me he wanted to take a nap. If only he knew...poor guy.

I turned on the TV monitor and he zoned out.

So in the zone.

8:40 a.m.

"Mama, hold me?" I couldn't pick him up fast enough. My boy! Mama loves you so, if only you could know.

Five minutes later, the anesthesiologist came in and introduced herself. She produced a needle-less syringe filled with Versed, an oral sedative, for me to administer, so that they could carry him away from me and to the far-off surgical suite without much struggle. Problem was, there was no way in hell that Ayize was taking it - I tried to whisper to her to put in a cup, and she did, but just as he went to sip it excitedly (I told him it was juice, and he was so thirsty by that point, that he was eager to comply), she said, "Oh good, he believes us!" and that was it, he threw the cup down and absolutely refused to drink it. Yikes!

It was clearly a lost cause, so finally she gave up and decided to just carry him out, though she told me it would now be a struggle for them to anesthetize him, and involve him being held down by nurses while they induced via face mask. I was frustrated and disappointed but I appreciated her honesty and I felt super safe and happy that she was the doctor in charge of his anesthesia because despite her lack of toddler knowledge, she was kind and funny and mega-competent.

Still, his departure was traumatic, to say the least. She scooped him up and as he began to strike out with limbs flying, she awkwardly hoisted him to her and began to try to race out of the room and towards the hallway. As she did, she shouted back over her shoulder to me, "Don't forget anything!"

And then she was off! She was a strong woman, to be sure, but she was no match for Ayize. Out the door they went, me trying to stop myself from trailing behind, torn between not wanting him to see me and unravel any further, but also wanting to see him and make sure he was alright. He was putting up a fight the likes of which she clearly hadn't expected - a nurse rushed past me, asking me, "Mrs. D----? (LOL! She used Baby Daddy's last name, which only added to the surrealness of the situation) He is only two, right??" and joined rank with the poor anesthesiologist, and between the two of them, they kind of fireman-carried him out to the hall. His screaming was totally hysterical.

A nurse cautioned me not to go out to the hallway yet, because if he saw me he would get more worked up - of course, I knew this, but I also knew she was probably used to parents who would insist on following their kids, so I just nodded compliantly. But then, a second later, she said, "The coast is clear - come on" and knew, just knew that it wasn't. I could hear him shrieking still, so I tried to edge my way towards the hallway door sloooooowly, but she beckoned me to keep up with her, so I did. And sure enough, they had waylaid halfway up the hall to get their bearings and readjust their hold on my feral child, and over one of their shoulders, he caught sight of me and a primal cry of "Maaaaaa-maaaaaaaaa!" came howling down the hall, burning a hole in both my ears and breaking my heart, and I threw up my hand in a brusque sort-of wave and shot off in the opposite direction towards the waiting room, my heart jackhammering with guilt and sadness.

Too late, I recalled that the anesthesiologist had cautioned me not to forget anything in the room, and Ayize was by now around a corner (though I could still hear him), so I asked the nurse if I could pop my head back in and make sure I hadn't left my stuff behind, because I knew I'd forgotten something in the chaos.

"Sure," she said, and I backtracked double-time, ducked my head into the room, what...was it...I knew I was missing something.....? A dirty Kleenex balled up on the small plastic-topped table we'd used to wipe up the Versed he had defiantly spewed out all over us.

And that was it.

And then it totally hit me - this absence I was feeling was the warm weight of my wonderful baby boy nestled in my arms from that moment before he transferred out of my embrace and into the hands and care of another's. Such an empty feeling, and yet it filled me fully. I was like a pool of liquid grief sliding down the hallway as I returned to the waiting room.

Anyone who saw me would never have guessed that my kid was in for a simple outpatient procedure - but then again, they also would not have seen my fear of an unexpected outcome, or of bad news after his hearing test. They would not have seen the dark memories of our early days together, filled with sickness and needles and sadness and my own bewilderment at finding myself in such a precarious position, wholly responsible for such a mysterious new being.

Bringing my wee one home from the hospital.

Three weeks later, en route to Children's Memorial for surgery.

Out of the recovery room and heading home with my whopping five-pound baby, a bundle of love and colic and indwelling catheters and infectious disease and infinite joy. A wonder to behold but also a source of complete terror. My son (and even that word felt crazy, back then, when it was all so new). The love of my life.

Finding peace in the weeks that followed.

Five months later, fully out of the woods (he), and finally standing on solid ground as a new mom (me). And not shaking his fist at me over tummy time, at long last, to boot!

Okay, that was a big flashback. Sorry. Left field.

So...back to today.

Watching the status board like a freaking hawk. As I did all morning.

9:10 a.m.

Ayize was #38208. He had been in surgery since 8:50.

My poor sister had been listening to me declare this same statement over and over again aloud for the past twenty minutes: "Hello Izumi, surgery went great, and Ayize has perfect hearing!" I literally said it over.

And over.

And over.

And over...

My poor sister! What can I say, though - I believe in the power of positive visualization! And in situations like that, mindlessly repeating a mantra is better than chewing off all your nails.

9:35 a.m.

Dr. Chen emerged from the surgical ward to give me a quick update. Surgery had gone smoothly, no complications, and the BAER test (a brainstem hearing test) showed no obvious hearing deficits! He still needs to have another hearing test done in a month, at his post-surgical checkup, to confirm today's results after he's all healed, but, in her own words, "it's looking good!"

I beamed and beamed and beamed!

My sister and I started giggling as the doctor walked away and I repeated my positive visualization statement again, this time in a booming, dramatic voice. We were sort of giddy and goofy and slap-happy and in disbelief.

She called my parents to pass along the great news, because I couldn't even talk on the phone. I just wanted to revel. To absorb. To relish. To devour the news. The sun shone down suddenly through a break in the clouds above, drenching us all in light, radiating warmth through me to my toes. And I was warm inside as well, from the wonderful news. And the beauty and bliss of the moment inspired me to snap off this quick shot so that I would never forget the way I felt at that moment.

Thank you, Gaia, and this good green earth!

9:40 a.m.

Still buzzing from my good-news high. Talya, Jeff, Kai and Kayla stop by to spend some time, and I try to communicate Ayize's status as a non-deaf human to them, but I don't think I'm very coherent. The girls make Ayize super cute cards, and I stop blissing out for just a moment to worry aloud about why his name is still in the "In OR" column when he's supposed to have been long out of the OR. I can only wonder and worry so much, however, as the joy drowns out the worry again in another wave of absorption.

10 a.m.

Finally, the board indicates a change in his status - he has been moved to the PACU (patient anesthesia recovery unit) at long last. I'm itching to get in there and be with him, as I'm supposed to be able to be with him the entire time he is in recovery, until he can be moved back to the Peds ward. But no one comes for me, so I start bugging the guy at the desk for some answers (in a really nice and polite way, don't worry)!

10:10 a.m.

Still waiting...ugh.

To pass the time, I torment Talya and Jeff by taking this candid portrait. They come to visit, buy me a coffee from the Starbucks downstairs, buy markers so the girls can make Ayize cute cards, and this is how I pay them back LOL - sorry, guys. But I was so tickled that Ayize had visitors that I couldn't resist posting this!

10:20 a.m.

Still waiting...dammit.

The girls consume way too much hot chocolate and do some crazy dancing.

10:25 a.m.

Finally, I was taken to the PACU. Turns out that Ayize was asleep all that time after surgery, so they had him crashed out in a little metal hospital crib-cage thing. After an hour of post-surgical sleeping, they got nervous, so they had the anesthesiologist do a full reversal instead of letting him snooze it off. Apparently, once he came to, he came to with a vengeance! Well, I could have told them that...

People are always shocked by how strong Ayize is, and these poor nurses really took one for the team. By the time they scrambled me into the PACU, he was in full effect. One little lady was holding him desperately in her arms, so the first thing I saw was a small Filipino lady facing me, and in her arms, a bucking, almost-naked, three-and-half-foot-tall - wait, that's my son! - kid in her arms. He had just had the reversal, and had immediately awoken with a violent start, managing to shed his garments in the process.

She practically threw him at me with relief, not unkindly, but because she literally could not hold onto him. I told them that I was sorry but I had to have a chair because there was no way I could hang onto him standing. They grabbed a wheelchair and tossed it my way and I parked my butt into it and hung on for the ride. Within seconds, he was vocalizing, and that turned into insistent shrieking, howling, and screaming. And tears. And a wild, bucking bronco thing that he kept doing, which had him almost flipping out of my lap.

Two nurses had to stay with us, one as a floater to keep stepping in and untangling his many lines, and the other, this sweet lady named Sol, whose only job was to steady his thrashing legs every time he did the bucking or arching thing (he began to alternate), because otherwise he literally would have flown off my lap and onto the floor. This went on for maybe twenty minutes only - thank God! My arms were straining from the effort. My surgical gown was untied and hanging off and my surgical cap had flown off like a frisbee during one of his violent episodes. I was seriously sweating like a pig trying to hold him. The nurse said it was like watching someone do Pilates!

I'd been repeatedly warned that he would act agitated and angry, but he really wasn't - it was more like non-seizuring, but involuntary, movements, mixed in with lots of love for Mama. He was upset about the IV in his hand and the pulse oximeter on his other hand and he raged about them in a non-verbal, dazed kind of way, but he also kept trying to noodge himself up into my neck and chin and cheeks and throat between episodes, as if he wanted to be as close as possible.

Then, with a suddenness, the wild part was over. He was coherent, though slurring. "Want out, Mama! Don't like it!" he shouted repeatedly, as he waved various intubated body parts about in horror. He quieted and listened to me sing him a little song - Brown Bear (and he could hear it - it was miraculous!) and he even began to drift in and out of sleep. He began to cry but he wasn't doing it in a wrecked or hysterical way - just in a kind of relieved, exhausted way.

I kept thinking about how overwhelming it must have been, to go from hearing nothing except sounds similar to those one would hear underwater, to an instant transformation into a fully-hearing person. Wow! Exciting, but traumatic. As if reading my mind, he flailed at a nearby monitor he was hooked up to that was incessantly emitting beeps, and told me, clear as a bell, "Too loud, Mama. It too loud" as he scowled in its general direction. It was really quite quiet, but it just goes to show.

11 a.m.

I think every single nurse and doctor in the crowded PACU must have breathed a collective sigh of relief when the transporter finally arrived to take us back to the Pediatric ward. Ayize was considerably more quiet by the time the guy came, but he had been paged to come fifteen minutes before, and Ayize was still periodically making quite a racket. It was kind of freaking out all the other people in the PACU waking up from their various organ removals and replacements and whatevers.

Here we were, being wheeled back to our room in the same wheelchair I'd used to anchor myself and Ayize with in the PACU.

He'd begun to cry again during the ride, although by now it was way so much more under control than earlier, thankfully. But the sounds of the hospital seemed to be overwhelming him and he kept repeating that "It too loud, Mama." I felt so bad!

I showed him my camera, and since the screen showed the movement of the ground in front of our rolling wheelchair, I told him it was a "choo-choo" movie. He watched with some disinterest, mostly because he wanted to obsess over his hated IV hand, casted up in a splint and taped with what looked like a full roll of tape to prevent him from ripping it out himself (yes, he has done that before!), but at least it provided a little distraction, and when I shot this photo, he wanted to see it, so that helped too.

11:05 a.m.

Back in our room, hooray! Sweet Celeste greeted us en route and the first thing she did was remove the IV to placate him. Did I mention how much I love this lady?

He had, of course, managed to totally screw up his IV with all his flailing, and it was bleeding out quite a bit under all the tape and bandaging and splinting material, so she got the mess all cleaned up and the bleeding stopped, and she put an Elmo bandage over it - which endeared her to him for life.

11:15 a.m.

As soon as the IV was out, he was chill, like nothing had ever happened. He went to town on these Froot Loops and some juice that Celeste brought for him, and even smiled for her and told her a story (he was still groggy so none of us could quite grasp the gist of the tale).

11:35 a.m.

Jeff came in to say goodbye ten minutes earlier, and Ayize said, clear as a bell, "Bye bye, Jeff. See you soon!" Now Talya was popping in for a quick visit, and as she left, he also said, "Bye bye" to her - too cute! He continued repeating phrases with great clarity - "rubber bumper" being the most notable - as the day went on. I am so excited about this "new beginning" now that he can hear!

11:40 a.m.

This is when we met Brandy (right). She came in with a great Noah's Ark balloon and a basket filled with cute beanie babies, and gave him his choice. He's been way into sea life lately (don't ask), so he picked Claude the Crab.

Ayize's gifts! (I'm only doing that Mike Myers pinky thing to hold down the helium balloon for the photo!)

The wide view of the room. Man, that ceiling brings back memories...!

Ayize was bounding around on the bed, playing with the string of his balloon. A moment earlier, a 15-year-old boy readying for surgery who shared our room came over to say hey to him and hang for a second before being wheeled off into surgery. The boy felt so bad, as did his mom, because of all of Ayize's earlier wailing. Getting attention from this "big kid" made Ayize feel so cool!

11:50 a.m.

Somebody was getting very restless! Celeste came by for one more quick check-up - he got a dose of Tylenol and his temperature was taken one last time (98.7) - and he was given the green flag to go, on account of the fact that he was eating and drinking already, peeing, and had had a very fast, successful recovery from anesthesia. Woo hoo!

On our way out, we ran into Dot (top left), who was a hospice care nurse many years ago for my sister's son. It was a very emotional reunion, and cathartic for my sister, I think, in a lot of ways - especially to be happening today, on this day of great stress followed by great relief. They were thrilled to reconnect and I was honored to be present for it. Such a great moment.

12:10 p.m.

Even the status board knows that we are Audi 5000!

Ayize assists with my sister's parking garage ticket. "Money, please!"

Such a helpful young man LOL!

Lunch at my sister's house, and Ayize is elated to be reunited with "his girls", as well as Grandma and Grandpa, who he asked after during recovery in our Peds room.

Kisses from all directions - thank you, girls! He felt so loved!!

Can't keep a good man down, and he had energy to spare (amazingly), so we headed to Dewey School to hang with chums Tamara, Brianna and baby Nathan. Actually, we headed to Tamara's house and strolled the six blocks to the school. And Ayize insisted on walking the whole way - that boy is a super trooper!

Big hug from Na-Na, who importantly informed me that Ayize had gone to the "hobs-ible" today because his ears got "hurt" but now they were "okay". She also kept reporting to us - with wonderment - sentences he was saying to her. We were filled with wonderment at it all, too!

I just have to stop here to say that Tamara has been such a wonderful source of support throughout this whole ordeal, and I feel so blessed and grateful to have her as a dear friend - thank you, kind lady! I don't know who was more celebratory this afternoon, you or me! It was so nice to watch his newfound words unfold in the company of such lovely friends!!

Hmmm. Perhaps not a highly-recommended move to be performed shortly after general anesthesia. I swiftly interceded (though he was managing just fine on his own, and was probably irritated by my intrusion)!

Loving El Baby Nathan Handsomito. Hey - what's up with all those wood chips in your hair, dude??

Whee! Life is good. No, strike that. Life is...

...GREAT!!!