Ty’s third surgery in 37 days. I can’t believe all that he has had to endure and he just takes it. No whining. No complaining. I hold him and wish I could just take the pain away. I wish it was me and not him.
Rocky, Emma and I headed to the hospital at 5:15 am. They thought they would begin prepping him at 5:30 or 6:00. When we got there Ty was awake but peaceful. We just loved on him until everyone was ready to go. My heart broke once more as they wheeled him away on his warmer, off to go to sleep. And I couldn’t keep the pain inside anymore as the tears streamed down my face once more as my son rolled down the long hallway and through the double doors.
We went to the waiting room until they were done. The doctor came out a little after an hour to say that he was done with the scope, pictures and insertion of the new stents. He also wanted to take Ty’s adenoids out. He was able to clear out a lot of tissue and get the bigger stents in, but thought the adenoids would eventually create problems. We agreed even though we didn’t really know. Our doctor had been great and we trusted him tremendously, so we agreed with his judgment. One more thing for Ty to go through.
We went up to see him after his surgery was over. He was restless, off his ventilator but very uncomfortable. Emma had a hard time seeing him like that. She lost it. We went down to the cafeteria to wait for the doctor to talk about the pictures but he never came back because he had to go on to another surgery. We hoped we could talk to him soon.
Rocky and I got to the hospital to see Ty that evening and chills went down my spine. One of our favorite night nurses was on and she was very stressed. She told us Ty had been busy and causing some excitement – again.
He apparently had some issues with his fentanyl – pain medication. In trying to control his pain, he’d been given too much in his system which caused him to relax so much that he stopped breathing. He need to be stimulated to take a breath with the oxygen mask covering his mouth and nose, pumping air into his lungs to bring his heart rate and oxygen levels back up. He had several episodes before he got back to normal. They immediately took him off the fentanyl and while we were there, he was not on any pain medication at all. His eighth fight for life. My heart hurt for him. To watch him struggle so much just to breathe. An involuntary action we all do without even thinking. He struggled to eat. To survive. I wished it could be me and not him.
When we left, he was still on an IV, hadn’t had any feeds, somewhat comfortable but they were running some additional tests on him. His hematocrit test came back with a high white blood cell count and low red blood cells. The high white they were afraid might be due to infection and they started him on antibiotics just to be sure. They tested his urine by taking a sample by a catheter and took a blood sample too. They would culture those to see if he had anything more serious.
His red blood count was low and could be due to his prematurity which they expect to happen. But he was pale and he’d gotten cold (96.7) and couldn’t warm up, so they moved him back to a warmer bed.
Needless to say, Ty struggled through his surgery and his recovery. This surgery had been the biggest one yet and I felt like we were gradually sliding backwards. I didn’t want to panic. I just wished there was something I could do for him.