adenoidectomy
October 2008 
Here we go...again
Posted on Mar 10th, 2008
by 
Debi
Debi
Well, our health trials with Little Shmoo aren't over, though we hope this next one is easier and less dramatic than the last one. Wednesday she'll go in for a tonsillectomy, adenoidectomy, and another bronchoscopy to see why her colds still make her upper airway rattle so loudly. We are hoping the "ectomies" will resolve her snoring, apparent apnea, and put an end to the constant stream of sinus infections that have plagued her this winter.
She's a little person now, no question about it, and that makes it harder and easier at the same time. For her big surgery in October 2006, she was still truly a baby, and we couldn't explain any of this to her. When we sent her into surgery then, we sent a little ball of unexpressed emotion with very little ability to participate in the world around her. Goodbye, critically ill constantly unhappy crying baby. Have a nice surgery. Hope we see you again when it's over.
This time, we're sending one of our fellow adventurers in there. She tells us she loves us. She says it, on her own, along with a lot of other things, like "I want to watch Dora" and "Mommy, I'm still coughing, I need to go to the doctor" and "We have to go to school to pick up my sister" and "Please can I have more mango?" She is proud of her big girl bed. She can put beads on a piece of lanyard. She can sing the alphabet song, and she can hop like a bunny, and she can hold on to my neck all by herself while I swim a full length at the pool. She could help me save her life, if we ever needed to. On Wednesday, we'll get to explain the basics of her surgery to her, and wait for her -- our funny little daughter, deeply beloved -- on the other side.
Wish us luck.
She's a little person now, no question about it, and that makes it harder and easier at the same time. For her big surgery in October 2006, she was still truly a baby, and we couldn't explain any of this to her. When we sent her into surgery then, we sent a little ball of unexpressed emotion with very little ability to participate in the world around her. Goodbye, critically ill constantly unhappy crying baby. Have a nice surgery. Hope we see you again when it's over.
This time, we're sending one of our fellow adventurers in there. She tells us she loves us. She says it, on her own, along with a lot of other things, like "I want to watch Dora" and "Mommy, I'm still coughing, I need to go to the doctor" and "We have to go to school to pick up my sister" and "Please can I have more mango?" She is proud of her big girl bed. She can put beads on a piece of lanyard. She can sing the alphabet song, and she can hop like a bunny, and she can hold on to my neck all by herself while I swim a full length at the pool. She could help me save her life, if we ever needed to. On Wednesday, we'll get to explain the basics of her surgery to her, and wait for her -- our funny little daughter, deeply beloved -- on the other side.
Wish us luck.
Our Shmoo
Access: PublicTagged with: motherhood, parenthood, tonsillectomy, adenoidectomy, bronchoscopy, children, health, trust, here we go, surgery, toddler
The best of luck to Little Schmoo and you!
My daughter had a similiar surgery under similiar conditions at the age of 2.5 years old. Up until after her surgery she had never slept through the night and you could always hear her breathing from two rooms away. She had a deep husky voice and her best companion was a roll of toilet paper. When she woke up from surgery, she had a little girl voice and started sleeping restfully through the night. I however got up to check on her for weeks because I couldn't hear her breathing from my bedroom anymore:)
She is now 27 years old and having completed a master degree in science with distinction in Physics she is a teacher of science at a private highschool. Other than a few pockets full of allergies she is a healthy energetic woman.
with warmth Terrill
I am definitely sending you all good wishes.