Going Under... and resurfacing...

Phew. The week is over. Well, at least it's over for all intents and purposes. Too many procedures, too many appointments, too much stress. Tomorrow, we breathe.

Our day started at 4:45 this morning. That was the time we set the alarm to go off, because Oliver couldn't nurse beyond 5:00 AM. You see, today was his dreaded endoscopy. We got to New York Presbyterian around 8:00 AM for paperwork and consultations with the anesthesiologist and the gastroenterologist. Oliver was given super cute scrubs to wear. We tried to keep him happy. And we started to panic. With each passing minute, I just wanted to get it over with. We hadn't anticipated that he would have to be on a respirator during the procedure. The idea of my little boy being put under anesthesia was enough for me to digest, but the fact that his body couldn't breathe on its own while he was under? Terrifying.

9 AM, they were ready. Was I ready? I felt like we were marching to the gallows as we walked back to the procedure room. They put monitor sticky pads on his back and chest. They put an oxygen monitor on his toe. They asked me to lay my baby boy down on an inflated, heated pad on the bed. They put a mask on his face and he started to cry. And then he stopped and became eerily calm. And then his eyes grew blurry and rolled back. And they told me to kiss him and leave the room. And I cried.

And we waited. 30 minutes. 35 minutes. They came to get us to bring us back to the recovery room. And we waited. Then I heard his cries. The anesthesiologist carried him to me and placed him in my arms. He flailed and cried, all the while his eyes were closed. They brought a warm blanket and wrapped it around his little body, and he fell into a deep, calm sleep in my arms.

So, nothing really to report. We survived it, he survived it. The waking up process was pretty grueling, with more tears, vomit, and some blood, but the good news is there are no major obstructions in his digestive tract. We should get the pathology report in another week. So no real answers as to why my otherwise healthy 25 pound 10 month old won't eat, but also no real bad news... so do we call it a draw?

Tonight, he splashed around in his bath, happy as a clam. The bruises on his foot from his IV and the red square marks on his chest and back from the monitors stuck to his tender skin were the only reminders of our morning. But PHEW. It's over.