The Corbin Story: continued

Sunday: 27th

It's a wonder of God I'm able to supply my baby with breastmilk. It didn't work with my first born; I just could not get the hang of it. So this time around, I ask questions and make sure I know what I'm doing. It just requires me to pump every three hours.
And let me tell you, it turns into a chore really fast. I have to set my alarm every night so that I can get up and pump. It makes the nights seem a whole lot shorter.

When we get to the hospital, the nurse tells us that over night, Peanut decided he did not need his breathing tube anymore and pulled it right out! They were planning on removing it soon anyway, but my baby was done messing around with that thing and did the job himself.
That's my boy!
When you are staying at the McDonald house, the doctors ask you to be around for rounds every morning since you are staying so close. So we wait and wait....About two hours later, they finally show up and go over his numbers. He is doing good, vitals and holding up, and they mention surgery may be Tuesday. Still no date yet though. Only speculation. Oh well...more waiting.

We go out to lunch then to Walmart to buy a GPS. Since Hubby will be going back to work soon and I will be left here with mom, I feel better having something to help us get around. Knowing myself and my mother, we would take one wrong turn and end up in Ohio before you could say "wrong turn."

When we get back to the hospital, they greet us with great news. Peanut will NOT have to have open heart surgery. YAY! I was so worried. Instead they will go in to bridge his aorta then wait two months to go back in and patch the holes.
They were going to put a PIC line in, which is a more permanent type of IV. That way they won't have to continually stick him for blood. They couldn't get it in so instead they put an IV in his head. I cringe every time they say IV *ugh*. They tell me that he took it like a champ though! He didn't even cry.
That's my boy!

Monday: 28th

As I am pouring my coffee in the kitchen of the McDonald house, I hear behind me the television. It's on the weather channel and apparently, there are tornado warnings for the area!
"Wha? We don't get tornadoes in the mountains?!"
Then I remember.
We're not in the mountains anymore. We are a so close up to Ohio, I could spit across the state line. Damn you flat country!

Rounds go well. His vitals are good, but his jaundice is getting worse so they decide to add another blue light. We finally get to talk to the Cardiothorasic Surgeon. He is short man with long, thin fingers. He kind of looks like the Monopoly man, hair and all! He wears small round glasses at the end of his nose and talks quietly. The nurses have already told us things about him, like how if you don't ask him a question he will just walk out. He is so concentrated and so smart, he doesn't waste time on niceties or chit chat. If you ask, he will answer to his best knowledge. But if you don't, he will just walk away. He talks very quietly and is know to mumble but he is amazing in the operating room.
This only makes me more nervous. I don't want to forget anything.
Hubby tells me later, he hopes he didn't shake the docs hand too hard, "that's his operating hand!"
We are bursting with questions, but he stops us and says:
"I see you have a list of questions, but I can't answer them. We have to get through this surgery, then everything else depends on how he recovers. We can't plan a month ahead, we can only go one day at a time."
Well crap.
That wasn't what I wanted to hear but I know he is the best there is around here and I have to trust him. He goes on to tell us that they are planning to bridge his aorta then put a clamp on his pulmonary artery to restrict blood flow to his lungs. There is too much blood flowing and it is causing fluid to build up. He says he saw on the echo that Peanut's ventricle is small. He emphasizes that he won't know if it is TOO small until he is looking at Peanut's heart. If it is, then this will turn into a whole other operation. If it is too small, then Peanut will have to live off of one ventricle and his chances of dying on the table go up 20%.
When he says "die", my heart drops.
I know there are risks, I just didn't think the chances were that high. He says if he has two good sized ventricles, then his chances of dying are 10-15%. But if he only has one good one, then his chances of dying are 25-30% and his life span will be till around 30.
At this point I start crying. But it doesn't faze the doctor. He touches my hand, once and very lightly, then continues on explaining. I stop thinking. All I hear is: death. It's too much. I can't hold it in and the tears flow.
The nurse brings me tissues as I try to calm myself down. Hubby only gives me a look of understanding. I try to get my concentration back on what the doctor is saying. He is saying that he can't tell us how long the surgery will last or when he will have to have his next surgery. EVERYTHING depends on what that ventricle looks like.

In a daze, we go back to the house to update family. Hubby and I are on the porch, talking, when we get a phone call from the hospital. The anesthesiologist has arrived and is available for questions. We hurry over and head to the NICU.
The anesthesiologist is also a quiet talker. But he is much more talkative then Dr. G, the cardiologist. Hubby asks him what the risks are, and he answers but doesn't really answer the question. You can tell he is very educated and knows exactly what he is talking about but it is hard to understand. Another genius.
Although there is a lack of answered questions, we are comforted by the fact that these doctors are one of the best on the East Coast. Kids get sent from all around to this hospital just for these doctors. I was told earlier, by another mother, that once your child sees Dr. G. He will never see another doctor in his life. As long as Dr. G is working, then Peanut will be coming here to see him. There was a 65 year old patient of Dr. G's in the PICU the other day. Tell me THAT'S not impressive.

My parents arrive soon after we get back to the McDonald house. It is great to see my mother. She knows how I am, and how I like to be comforted. No one can do it like mama.
We all go out to dinner to talk. When we are seated, Dad ask's me a question about the surgery.
"So, what did the doctor say?"
I can't answer him, I'm trying not to cry. I ask "Can we please not talk about surgery tonight? We will talk about it later, but not at dinner?"
And so we don't.
We talk about prison (Hubby's favorite subject) and my brother, and college, and memories.
And I laugh.