Guys aren't supposed to cry. We're especially not supposed to lose it. You all know what I'm talking about...that uncontrollable sob that creeps up in the back of your throat like an AA meeting ready to vacate the premises because the coffee guy didn't show up.
We all have a front. I found out today that my front is my indifference. It was an interesting realization.
As I posted on Facebook earlier, the heart catheter procedure was delayed about 2 hours. That gave me ample time to be pissed off at something innocuous instead of admitting that I was incredibly scared about what my son was waiting to go through. It's so interesting how much more aware he is now. It definitely makes all of this a lot harder.
The poor little guy hadn't eaten for 16 hours when we finally were able to get him into his hospital gown and prepare for the surgery. I was hoping that I would get to scrub in and be with him until he was put to sleep, but the anesthesiologist gently made me aware that my being there would take complete focus off their primary objective: Jon Michael. I have a feeling that this wasn't the first time she played to someone's emotions so that her job would run smoothly. Can't say that I blame her.
Amanda and I were able to walk him down to the heart catheter O.R. This procedure was actually done at Stanford Medical which shares multiple entrances with LPCH (Lucille Packard Children's Hospital). When we got to the still swinging doors, we both kissed and hugged him and cried on him and handed him over to the able hands of the heart catheter team.
There really aren't words to describe how hard it is to walk away from your child...especially when you know something he or she doesn't. Like how they're about to get a catheter shoved up a major vein and have various dyes spurt into their heart so that pictures can be taken.
All things considered, everything went really well. We found out that Jon Michael will be a prime candidate for the Glenn Shunt that he is scheduled for on Friday. I have the distinct feeling that I'm taking this a lot harder than he is.
I finally broke down today. I had kept up a pretty good front and been strong for Amanda which, at the end of the day, is any spouse's job. Where one fails, the other must persevere. It's the only way a relationship works. Watching my son writhing on the recovery table, red as a cherry from screaming and having to have morphine shoved in his IV to calm him down...it wasn't the same when he was five weeks old. He was still a person...but he didn't yet have personality. Everything's changed, yet everything's stayed the same.
Life moves in mysterious ways. I guess all we can really do is make sure that we have a life vest when the canoe tips over.
As I type this, I'm sitting next to the little guy at 3West, the third floor of LPCH. Hopefully we will get to take him back to the hotel tomorrow night so we can spend some much needed face time with him before open heart surgery on Friday.
Thank you all again for your prayers and thoughts for Jon Michael. All three of us are blessed to have your support and love. We are still trying to raise some money for the hotel, since we really don't know how long we're going to be here and Ronald McDonald has pretty much ruled out any chance at our staying there any time in the next month, so if you know anyone who might want to donate or you'd like to post this blog on your favorite social media site, we would be very appreciative.
I hope you all have a lovely day tomorrow and we will keep you updated on his surgery schedule.
~Jeff Martin
The poor little guy hadn't eaten for 16 hours when we finally were able to get him into his hospital gown and prepare for the surgery. I was hoping that I would get to scrub in and be with him until he was put to sleep, but the anesthesiologist gently made me aware that my being there would take complete focus off their primary objective: Jon Michael. I have a feeling that this wasn't the first time she played to someone's emotions so that her job would run smoothly. Can't say that I blame her.
Next was an echo cardiogram. It took quite a while for the technician to find his shunt which, according to Amanda, happens from time to time. After about a half an hour, Jon Michael was pretty much over listening to Pachabel's 'Canon' and getting his chest pressed on by a gel-coated probe, so he started screaming. Amanda got him to sleep and the technician was able to finish up in peace.