Leading Up to Surgery

We checked in on April 18th, had some tests on that day and the 19th, and met with the surgeons on the 19th. April 21st was the scheduled surgery date, and they needed to monitor Mia for a few days before hand and go through all of the insurance paperwork. The 20th was supposed to be a relaxing day, but it was quite possibly the most stressful day of my entire life.

The night of the 19th was a long one. The day before, Mia had some tests scheduled for the afternoon, so the doctors made her skip her nap so that she would be asleep when they wanted to do the tests. They gave her medicine at 4 in the afternoon, but it was taking some time to kick in. Had they been willing to wait a few more minutes, she would have fallen asleep; they instead gave her a second dose of the sleeping medicine, and she was out at 4:30. She slept for 5 hours, waking up at 9:30 and not sleeping until after midnight, meaning that no matter how tired I was, I couldn't sleep until after then. I ended up getting about three hours of sleep that night.

In order to keep tabs on Mia's vitals, they hooked her up to a bunch of different devices, including a heart monitor, an oxygen sensor, and an IV drip. She was very calm throughout everything, and didn't even cry when they took blood. The nurses were all very impressed with her toughness. The hardest part about having her hooked up to all the tubes was that she still had a ton of energy and wanted to run faster than I could move the equipment.

The PHCU had a play area with a padded floor and some books for kids to read, with a mural of fish on the wall. Mia would run over to the fish and tell me which fish was Mia's fish, which was Kelsey's fish, which was Daddy's fish, and which was Mommy's fish. Something about the fish must have reminded her of us, because she was very consistent about whose fish was which. The hallway leading from the main hospital wing to the PHCU was lined with colorful decals of human feet, which Mia liked to call "duck feet", in reference to "I Wish That I Had Duck Feet", a book we own which was written by Dr. Seuss under the pen name of Theo LeSieg and illustrated by someone else. Up until the surgery date, we could go on walks anywhere in the hospital--after the surgery, we'd have to stay in the PHCU and couldn't go past the "duck feet".

When I wasn't taking Mia around for different tests or going on walks, I was hanging around the room with Mia looking to rest. This was next to impossible, as nurses and doctors kept popping their heads in the room to explain some other disclosure or give me more Japanese paperwork to fill out. Doctors even brought medical students by to see the American patient. I'm sure that it's common for the students to visit patients, but it seemed a bit odd when, on the day before the surgery, more than 25 people (not including me or Mia) all crammed into our small room to see Mia. When you haven't slept for a few days and you're expecting a day of relaxation, it's a bit unnerving to have to deal with a constant stream of people you weren't expecting to have to see.

The talk with the chief surgeon was frightening. He is a very nice man and was very eager to make me feel comfortable, but it's hard to be totally at peace when you are hearing about the dangers of open heart surgery. No matter how hard you try to push the thought of tragedy out of your mind--regardless of the greater-than-98% success rate of the surgery--it's impossible as a parent not to worry that your child might fall into the "less than two percent" of ASD surgery patients who don't make it. When the doctor explains how the heart-lung machine works, and that it will be necessary for them to physically stop your child's heart, there's nothing that can you can do to completely eliminate worry and stress.

Sparing no details, he explained the procedure from start to finish. The procedure itself would take three or four hours from start to finish, with about an hour of preparation time sandwiched around the surgery. First, they would make an incision in her chest, and then cut the sternum underneath to reach the heart. After hooking her up to the heart-lung machine and making an incision in the heart, they would search for the hole, stitch it shut, and then close her up again. He explained the risks of each stage of the surgery and mentioned that about 80% of those who receive ASD surgery require a blood transfusion, which in and of itself carried all sorts of risks.

Of course, they needed me to give my consent for everything, and I was quick to provide it. Anything that they needed to do to help Mia, I thought, was fair game. The nurses and doctors kept asking me if Stef was going to be there on the surgery date, and I kept answering that she would as long as she didn't go into labor. The last thing I wanted was for the stress of everything to cause Stef to go into premature labor again, so I did everything I could to shoulder all the stress. I even avoided telling Stef that they would have to stop Mia's heart for the procedure. In retrospect, it was silly to think that she wouldn't already know, given her medical background. The thought of Stef not being able to be with me during Mia's surgery and me not being with Stef for the birth was just too much, so I did all I could to remain positive.

The night before the surgery, Mia started a fast so that there wouldn't be any excess waste in her body, which can interfere with surgery. She wasn't very hungry for dinner that night, but I painstakingly fed her every last bite, knowing that she might not get to eat for a while.

When your daughter is going to have major surgery, it's impossible to look at even simple events in the same way. You don't know if it's going to be the last time you feed her dinner, read her a book, tickle her, sing a song to her, or go on a walk. Every moment becomes one to cherish--you just want to hold on to her and never let go. But there comes a time when you have to put her fate in the hands of the surgical staff and hope. And pray.

The night before the surgery, during our nightly family Skype call, Stef seemed a bit upset. She was having contraction-like pain and was afraid that the baby might come early. While talking to Stef, I kept a level head and suggested that she head in to her doctor to make sure that it wasn't labor contractions. After all, it's better to get sent home for a false alarm than not go when you need to and have nobody to take you. We called the clinic, and they said that, based on her symptoms, it was likely that they would admit her to the clinic to have the baby. We were crushed. I remained positive on the phone, hoping to calm Stef's nerves--but once I got off the phone, I was a wreck.

I needed someone there with me. I needed Stef there. All I could do was plead on my hands and knees that Stef's doctor would send her back home. I walked to the nurse station and fought back tears as I told them that Stef might not be able to come for Mia's surgery. Though I was terrified, I didn't want to call her and seem anxious about the whole situation, as that wouldn't exude the confidence that I was trying to project. So I waited. And waited. And waited. Finally, I got a call from Stef--she was coming home!

Excited, I informed the nurses of the development and went back to my room to get on my knees and offer thanks that Stef was OK. As I sobbed with gratitude, letting my emotions spill out, a nurse came into the room to ask me something. I sprung to my feet and hit the pause button on my prayer, and finished it after the nurse left the room. She asked if I was OK before she left, and I explained that I was just thanking God that everything was OK.

I prayed a lot that night, as well as the next day--Mia's surgery date.

Oh, what a night

Unicorns. All the video games in the world. The ability to fly. Hitler in a tutu singing theme songs of 80's sitcoms. These are the things that dreams are made of. Stef went to bed last night at at 7 after a tiring day. While she was dreaming of Almond Roca-paved streets, I was hunched over the computer, fervently typing code for a friend's website. After a grueling day spent verifying table cell widths and CSS properties, I was ready for dreamland at 10. But I didn't get to hit a home run in the bottom of the ninth, save the world from the jellyfish men or miss every three-point shot while my teeth fell out. Not at 10, anyway.

We're moving to a house in town that's got more rooms and more privacy. Yesterday, an electrician from another island came to our apartment to remove our air-conditioner and install it in the new house. No longer able to enjoy cool air in the apartment, we tried to compensate by spreading the hot air around with an oscillating fan. I tossed and turned from 10 until about 12, when I finally got on the escalator to dreamland. An escalator to nowhere!

I was awakened by the sound of Kelsey whimpering. Stef and I moved the porta-crib from Kelsey's room into ours, and she went back to bed--for a few seconds. Suddenly, she started groaning again. Stef got up and soothed her with a soft back rub. Every time Stef took her hand away, Kelsey cried. It wasn't clear if Kelsey was awake, but Stef thinks she might have had her first nightmare. I can see it now: dancing and twirling around in a land of plentiful toast, where the juice flows like water, and every wall and window is a TV with an endless loop of Finding Nemo. Without warning, the toast disappears. Water flows like water. Nemo runs away with another fish (..and his name was Lamar!).

Lucky for me, Stef was willing to help Kelsey through her rough night. I boarded the slow train to bliss and eventually made it there. As I enjoyed my bottomless rootbeer float in heaven, I started sinking into the clouds. The sky abruptly opened and I torpedoed back to Earth.

"Wake up!" Stef said. It's 7:45 and you have to leave for work in a half-hour. Crap. I felt like I could have slept for another hour. In a daze, I hurriedly showered, threw my clothes on, and wolfed down a bowl of corn flakes. I heard a ferry horn in the background, which was odd for that time. I thought that I had heard a coworker say yesterday that most people wouldn't be at work today. Maybe that horn was for some special kind of ferry, like one that had come during the week from another island. A half-hour later, I remembered that it was Thursday, and that I had to take the non-burnable trash to the trash plant. Three massive bags festered on our little back porch. The next day for non-burnables was next Tuesday. Tuesday was not an option.

I jumped into my shoes, gave Kelsey a kiss, loaded the trash bags onto a dolly, and started running to the trash center (which is in the opposite direction of the town hall, where I'm working). I tossed the bags into the disposal truck and walked briskly past the apartment, throwing the dolly against the fence as I passed. A few minutes later, as I neared the town hall, I glanced up at the town clock to see how late I was. Being late is much worse in Japan than in America. People really look down on you for it. It was :28 after, so I was looking okay. I turned the corner and walked through the automatic doors at the town hall, and greeted the only other person there. "Nobody's here today, eh?" I asked, assured that I had understood what my coworker said the day before. "Oh, they're all coming in today, my coworker said. At 8:30. It's 7:30 right now."

When I opened the unlocked door to our apartment, Stef jumped. I ignored her quizzical look and approached her. I pointed to the clock, my head tilted to the side and my eyes staring off into nothingness. "I'm so sorry!" Stef said. "I swear I thought it was an hour earlier!" So that's how she gets me to take out the garbage. John Wayne will just have to wait until tonight to twirl that red-licorice lasso while riding through the sky on a twinkie.

Quick notes

Stef has updated the family blog with a couple posts about her first few experiences out here. You can read them at jessenstef.spaces.live.com.

Loren Noel, the driver of the car that Kaleo was a passenger in, wrote about the accident. It's a heart-wrenching and touching account. I also recommend reading the other post on that blog.

My prayers are with the families of those involved.

Projects

Stef and I have a few projects we're working on before we go to Japan. I'm typing out the journal entries that I originally sent to Christina so that I can get those back to her if she wants them. Also, we're converting our DVD collection into .avi files and keeping them on an external hard drive. It's a lot easier than lugging all those dvds in a case. Much lighter, too.

We're trying to figure out what we need to bring with us. As of now, all we can really think of is clothing, the Wii, and the laptop. We'll ship any books that we need separately. I may need to buy a bike and take it on the plane with me.

I'll be leaving for Japan on July 26th. Stef will follow me out with Kelsey on the 15th (or so) of August. We're going to drive (or fly, not sure yet) to California around the 6th or 7th of July, and I'll fly back on the 24th in preparation for the orientation in Salt Lake on the 25th. I'll arrive in Japan on the 27th and go to some orientation meetings for a few days. Then, the real adventure starts.

Stef and I have started studying Japanese together in preparation. It's very exciting to think that we'll be able to communicate with each other in another language. Kelsey will probably pick up a bit of Japanese, too.

Stef is going through the final preparations to become a labor doula. She's flying out to Colorado for a conference at the beginning of May. She'll take the classes she needs, and then return to Utah to participate in a few births. She's already go some possible clients after setting up an ad on Craigslist. That's exciting for her. She's hoping to do a little bit of that while in Japan.

Up all night

Kelsey had it rough last night. We put her in bed at about 9:30 or 10, and everything seemed all right. As Stef and I sat in bed we heard Kelsey whimper. She had coughed loudly a minute earlier, but we didn't think anything of it. Stef went in to check on Kelsey and walked up to her crib, the smell of vomit hitting her like a sack of horseshoes. Kelsey had thrown up all over herself and the bedding.

As Stef got Kelsey out of her pajamas, I prepared the bath. Tired, Kelsey shook and groaned while Stef put her in the tub and washed her up. She drank a little bit and started to look better, though still a little pale. Kelsey snuggled her head into my shoulder as I held and rocked her. Her temperature felt fine and she was alert, so Stef fed her a little and put her back down in her freshly made crib.

A bit later we awoke to the sound of Kelsey whimpering again. I reached down to pull her out of the crib and felt her soaked pajamas. Again we bathed her and changed her clothes. We didn't have any more clean bedding, so we put down some towels. Stef probed her mom for advice on the phone. This time, she was a little warm, but the thermometer said that her body temperature was close to normal. Hoping that she'd been through the worst of it, it was back to bed for Kelsey. I had a feeling that I should give Kelsey a blessing, but I pushed it aside and we included her in our nightly prayers.

Stef asked me to check on Kelsey during my nightly bathroom visit. When I woke up at 3 or so, Kelsey was once again making noise. Stef grabbed her while I was in the bathroom, and I went to check and see if she had thrown up again. The top towel had a small circle of vomit. We weren't sure what we would do. I helped with Kelsey while Stef again consulted with her sleeping mom. Diana told me that we should take her to the hospital if she got a fever or wouldn't keep any fluids down. By this time, Kelsey was seemingly cheery and wide-awake. I had a big day of studying ahead of me, so I had to get to sleep. I knelt down and said a prayer for Kelsey, hoping that she'd be okay. Stef took care of Kelsey while I tried to sleep, but soon Stef was in the bedroom waking me up. Kelsey had thrown up a couple more times, only this time Stef was holding her.

Stumbling out to the living room like a zombie, I struggled to remain patient. I didn't know if we should take her to the emergency room. I certainly didn't want to--not with a full day of study ahead of me. As I thought about giving Kelsey a priesthood blessing, Stef suggested that we do so. I placed my hands on her head and gave her a short blessing of health. Even though I doubted that she knew what was going on, I had faith that she'd get better. I plopped back into bed and fell asleep.

At 9 in the morning I woke up to the sound of Kelsey. I scooped the out of the crib and looked for signs of sickness. Everything seemed fine. However, I wasn't sure if I had slept through a rough rest of the night for mom and baby. Stef soon got up and I asked her if she slept at all. After the blessing, Kelsey didn't throw up at all. She was able to fall asleep, and Stef was able to get a good chunk of rest as well.

I feel a little guilty for not following the promptings I got earlier. I wonder if she suffered because of my reluctance. However, I still feel very grateful that she is okay and that both Stef and I were able to sleep.