As you might remember, when I posted about Dylan's emergency room visit and mystery injury, I hypothesized that the explanation for his rapid healing must be that he has some type of Wolverine-like mutant gene. Well, here is even more reason to prove this theory true...
This summer, we noticed Dylan's right thumb was bent and took him to the doctor to have it checked out. Turns out, he had a congenital condition called a trigger finger, which means there was a knot on the tendon at the bottom of the thumb that was not allowing the thumb to straighten all the way. He most likely had this condition since birth, but as he grew older it became more visible. The only way to really fix a trigger finger is through a simple surgery, so we scheduled the procedure for this past Thursday.
My anxiety started kicking in about two weeks ago. I knew the surgery was simple and quick, but I couldn't help being nervous. Images of my son undergoing general anesthesia and lying in an operating table kept popping into my mind. My stomach was in knots. I was so tense the muscles in my shoulders and back started aching. I couldn't sleep. I couldn't eat. I couldn't think straight.
Not surprisingly, the weekend before the surgery, I developed a fever and sore throat. On Monday, Dylan started coughing and sneezing. Oh, no! He was getting a cold right before his surgery! Worried, I called the doctor's office. The said that unless he had a fever, they could proceed with the surgery as scheduled. I monitored Dylan closely for the next few days, and although his cough seemed to get worse, he never developed a fever, so on Thursday morning, Bill and I woke up at the crack of dawn, carried a still-sleeping Dylan to the car, and headed out to the hospital.
When we arrived, we were taken to a room while we waited for the anesthesiologist and the surgeon to arrive. Dylan knew exactly what was going on and was very friendly and helpful with all the nurses and staff that kept coming into the room. He did not seem nervous at all, and proudly showed off the 'ouchie' that needed to be 'fixed' to all who asked.
After we spoke to the anesthesiologist and the surgeon, Dylan was given a sedative (or 'happy juice,' as we called it) to relax him. Ten minutes later, he was lying in his stretcher, giggling happily, ready to be wheeled out to the operating suite. We walked him down the hall to the surgical wing, and then it was time to kiss him goodbye and continue on our way to the waiting room.
Up until this point I had managed to hold myself together relatively well, but seeing my son being wheeled away from me, I couldn't stop the tears from rolling down my cheeks. In the waiting room, I checked the screen with Dylan's patient number every five minutes to see how the surgery was progressing. Before I knew it, the doctor was coming out to talk to us, letting us know that all was well and that we'd be able to see Dylan shortly.
The recovery room was by far the worst part of the whole ordeal. Dylan was so out of it from the anesthesia that I don't think he was even aware we were there, and was crying and screaming and trying to take off his bandage and his IV. I tried to hold him, but he was squirming so much I couldn't grab a hold of him, so Bill sat on a wheelchair and we sat Dylan in his lap. After a few minutes of crying, he fell asleep. When he woke up 45 minutes later, he was almost back to normal. By the time we got in the car, he was completely alert.
When we arrived home from the hospital, I tried to give him some oatmeal, figuring it would be best to have something soft in his stomach since he hadn't eaten in about fifteen hours. He took two bites of the oatmeal and said "Mama, chips, guacamole." So much for the theory that we'd have to ease him back to normal!
Not even an hour after we got home from the hospital, Dylan was running around outside, kicking soccer balls and acting as though nothing had happened. His bandage didn't seem to bother him at all, nor was he in any kind of pain. We went to his cousins' house so he could show off his bandage to Justin and Jack, then went to the Halloween store and looked at decorations. I kept him home from school on Friday, but I think he could have went without having any problems. Dylan has not once complained of pain, not once seemed bothered by his bandage. He has never acted as though he is in any kind of discomfort, and has never had any issues using his left hand instead of his right.
I am in awe. If I had been the one to get surgery, it would probably have taken me a good two weeks to get back to doing some of the things he was doing within mere hours of leaving the hospital. I was anticipating some difficult days of Dylan being in pain and out of it, and I can't even begin to tell you how glad I am that none of that ever happened. Thank goodness he has recovered so quickly, and hooray for the Wolverine gene!