The Surgery

We were all grateful that Aiden’s surgery was not at the crack of dawn…well, except for Aiden who couldn’t eat or drink from midnight on. Thankfully, he’s taken to sleeping a bit later in the mornings this summer so it wasn’t too much of an issue.

When the lady called me yesterday, she told me that we needed to pay when we arrived. After insurance, she said it was $475.68. On the way to the surgical center, I went over that with Nelson and he said no way. “We’ve had too many things go on. We’ve got to be closer to our deductible than that. Call insurance and let’s work this out before we get there.”

Sure enough, he was right. The insurance representative said it should be $138. That’s a whole lot better than the $400 figure or waiting six months and paying upwards of $2,500!

Aiden was scared but too “mature” to let on. When they called him back, I saw the lump in his throat. We got to go with him as they prepared him for surgery. He changed into his lavender gown and climbed into the bed. “Purple? Really?” was his first line of questioning.

The nursing staff was outstanding. They joked with him about the gown among other things as we waited to see the surgeon. They explained that they wouldn’t even put the IV in until he was asleep and assured him that once that happened, he wouldn’t feel a thing.

Aiden, being Aiden however, wanted to know EXACTLY what was going to happen. “Do you really want to know?” the nurse asked him and then looked at us to make sure it was ok to answer.

“He’s my kid with non-stop questions,” I explained. “He hates surprises. Go ahead and tell him.”

“Well,” she gingerly explained, “they burn them.”

Aiden’s eyes got wide with a mixture of fear and awe. “Okay,” was what he got out. “How do they do that?”

That’s when the surgeon walked in. To our great surprise, it was his doctor, the one who told us he’d be unable to do it because of prior commitments to clinic hours. “Dr. R!” I exclaimed with the excitement of someone finding a long lost relative. “It’s so good to see you. Thank you so much for being here.”

He smiled a confident, happy smile. “Well Aiden, are you ready to get this over with?”

“Yes sir,” he said. “How are you going to get them out?” he wanted to know from the man in charge.

“I stick a long tool up your nose, burn those suckers and yank them out,” he said in the language an eleven-year-old boy could appreciate. “Don’t worry bud, you won’t feel a thing. Say good bye to mom and dad and let’s get those adenoids out.”

We said our goodbyes and prayed over our boy. It doesn’t matter how old they are or how routine the surgery, sending your child into an operating room is not an easy task. For once this week, for Aiden’s sake, I did not cry.

We waited and prayed and talked. It wasn’t long before we were called back again. We sat in a small room where Aiden’s doctor came in and assured us that everything went very well. He said that the adenoids were much larger than he thought so “you definitely made the right decision. He was going to need surgery no matter what.”

We felt grateful and relieved as we went back into the post op area. They were wheeling Aiden down the hall as we entered. “He did great,” the nurse assured us. “He’s a little weepy but that’s the anesthesia, not because he’s in pain.”

Sure enough, my big, brave boy was slumped over in that lavender gown with his head in his hand. “Hey buddy,” I said. “The doctor said it went great and that those pesky adenoids are out.”

He was trying to hide his tears and absolutely convinced he was in pain. Since Max has had two surgeries, I know that coming off anesthesia can be a bear so I went with it. Nelson took the whole, you’re a man be tough route. Sometimes kids just need a mama.

By the time we were half way home, he was in better spirits. I remembered that the pharmacy had called to say they had a prescription ready for Aiden. I couldn’t for the life of me remember what it was for. I asked Nelson to call them and find out with the intention of stopping for it while we were out.

Come to find out, the doctor had called in the steroids in case the surgery didn’t work out. “Out of curiosity,” Nelson asked the pharmacist, “how much is it?” There was a pause and then he asked, “That’s with insurance? Okay. No, we will not be picking that up.”

Turns out the first month’s supply of that steroid he was going to be taking for six months was $125. I took it as one more sign from God that we made the right decision and I was very, very grateful.