Surgery

Jack's date has come. There was a cancellation so Jack is in. When I got the call, my stomach fell and I almost threw up. Yes, I wanted a December surgery, but that's easier to say when the surgery date isn't set and seems still far off.

Today, I guess I can say today as it's past midnight, we will call at 8 and they will tell us what time to bring him in. They will give him an IV, probably take blood for tests, and then they will most likely give him a tube in his nose to start administering a liquid to clean out his system. He'll be admitted and not allowed to eat. In other words, it will be a horrible day. Horrible.

Tomorrow, Tuesday morning, he will have surgery. They will take out half his large intestine and hook up the good part down to his rectum. They will take out his colostomy. Then he will stay in the hospital for probably a week as we get him to eat and hopefully poop. The pain meds slow the digestive system, so there's a trade-off between pain and speed.

And I don't want to do any of it.

I want him to get the surgery. I would love to stop using the bags and get him as normal as possible.

I don't want him to be in any pain. I don't want to put him in any danger. I don't want him to get scared or uncomfortable.

And while I know that this phase we're in with the colostomy and bag changes and all is difficult, it is our reality and we've become accustomed to it. I hate it, but I can do it. This surgery will end that, which is good. On the other hand, the surgery will not make him suddenly perfect. He will not be normal. He will be missing half his colon. He will suffer from severe diaper rash and will most likely need suppositories and such as his system learns.

He's part of me. Somedays, as he clings to me, my little spider monkey, that attachment is so acute. I can't get a free second. When Matt is feeding him, if I walk by he starts moving his hands and kicking his feet, pleading with his eyes and whining. We're still sleeping together and breast feeding. He's my little baby and he needs me. And I kiss his cheek and put my hand over his head, and I need him. He has the sweetest smell, and softest skin. And his little face is just a miniature of my husband combined with a male version of our daughter.

I plan on trying to stay in the hospital with him as much as Janie will let me. We've got Matt's parents visiting to help with her. I can't be away from her either, but this is a shorter stay with a more definitive ending time than when he was in the NICU. He's also more aware of me and his surroundings. He's going to be scared if he wakes up without me. And he's going to be looking for me specifically. I will not let him wake up without me.

I hope that someday this will all be some interesting story we tell him about how he got those scars on his belly. I'm looking forward to a day in the near future when I can blow raspberries on his tummy. And when he can wear two piece outfits like any other boy. And I want to give all the rest of his bag supplies away to the ostomy nurse to give to other patients.

My little baby. Sleeping in his polar pals zip up jammies, arms spread-out, lips making little sucky faces, chest rising and falling with each breath, dreaming of boobies, kitties and his big sister. You won't have to endure any more bag changes. I know the bags bother you by how you're always trying to grab and rip them off of you. They will soon be history. It will not be easy, but it will be for the best. Know I'm by your side, and we all love you. You're going to be okay. I love you.