Breathing...
I want to start off by saying a big thank you to my medical professional bloggy buddy who wae so kind and even offered to find second opinions in my area, even though they are pretty much across the country! Marvel, I am so lucky to have you.
Well, Tuesday morning dawned earlier than I wanted it to, as Babygirl decided to wake up fairly early at 6AM. Even though her bedtime is extremely scheduled and pretty much never varies, her wake up time is variable. I had been hoping she would wake up later as she was not allowed to eat anything until after the CT scan, and I didn't want to fight a three year old who wouldn't be able to understand why Mommy couldn't give her breakfast.
Turns out she was happy she wasn't going to school, and was agreeable to the not eating thing. Actually, she only had about four ounces of ice water from the time she woke up to the time we left for the hospital, which was at 8:30AM.
Babygirl, of course, had no idea of what was going to happen, and I was trying my best to be upbeat and normal. I guess that was easy, because even though I had spoken to the anesthesiologist the day before, I still wasn't quite sure how the day was going to go down.
Suffice it to say, the whole morning went really quickly and went off SO MUCH BETTER THAN I EVER DARED TO HOPE. I mean, it went flawlessly, and there were a few contributing factors.
One was that Babygirl was loving all the attention that the nurses were giving her. There were, at one point when they called in the "expert" IV nurse after the first try was a no go, about six people in our little curtained area cooing over her and making a fuss over her. When complete strangers start calling you "princess" and saying how pretty you are, things apparently don't look so bad. I am not kidding when I say that pretty much every person who came into contact with her at the hospital called her either beautiful or pretty. And that is my humblebrag for the day.
Another was that by some miracle, the nurse dosing her with the initial oral sedative (Versed) managed to get almost the entire amount in the syringe down her throat on the first try. This led to absolutely no fighting when the IV was attempted, and I was so very relieved that she was not traumatized.
We also were assigned (unbeknownst to me until we checked in) a child specialist who acted as sort of a liaison between us, the nurses, and Babygirl. She did an excellent job at explaining what was going to happen, and they had a great time putting an IV (with real tubing) into a stuffed Mickey Mouse. Bonus, she got to keep the Mickey Mouse and was enjoying putting "medicine" into the tubing with the syringe they gave her.
The Versed made her nice and calm and pliable, and she did not cry even once throughout the entire morning. We were able to follow her all the way into the CT room, and watched as the anesthesiologist injected the Propofol into her IV. I was completely unprepared for how emotional I became as I watched the Propofol quickly kick in, and she flopped forward with a confused look on her face. We were even warned that there might be a moment of her being "agitated." The staff, of course, was ready for this and caught her as she was already pretty much asleep. But just that second of transition from conscious to unconscious was enough to send both Hubba-hubba and me into tears. I have no idea why, possibly because some sort of ancient protective instinct at seeing her so defenseless. It took me more than a few minutes to calm down, but I finally pulled myself out of it.
After the CT was finished, we accompanied our still sleeping daughter (which was odd and bizarre because she is just never asleep during the day) to the recovery room. She took a good long while to wake up, and did so without too much panic or fear. I think she took so long to wake up because I had noticed she was very cold, and the nurses put a warmed blanket on her. This probably made her nice and toasty and unwilling to part from slumber.
Babygirl insisted on occupying the wheelchair all by herself, even though she was supposed to be sitting in my lap. She was shivering and her teeth were chattering, and the orderly who was wheeling her down was kind enough to take a different route to the entrance so that she could get out into the warm summer sun.
When Hubba-hubba pulled up, our daughter cried out, "No! Stay here!"
Which was good, and yet insulting at the same time.
Well, Tuesday morning dawned earlier than I wanted it to, as Babygirl decided to wake up fairly early at 6AM. Even though her bedtime is extremely scheduled and pretty much never varies, her wake up time is variable. I had been hoping she would wake up later as she was not allowed to eat anything until after the CT scan, and I didn't want to fight a three year old who wouldn't be able to understand why Mommy couldn't give her breakfast.
Turns out she was happy she wasn't going to school, and was agreeable to the not eating thing. Actually, she only had about four ounces of ice water from the time she woke up to the time we left for the hospital, which was at 8:30AM.
Babygirl, of course, had no idea of what was going to happen, and I was trying my best to be upbeat and normal. I guess that was easy, because even though I had spoken to the anesthesiologist the day before, I still wasn't quite sure how the day was going to go down.
Suffice it to say, the whole morning went really quickly and went off SO MUCH BETTER THAN I EVER DARED TO HOPE. I mean, it went flawlessly, and there were a few contributing factors.
One was that Babygirl was loving all the attention that the nurses were giving her. There were, at one point when they called in the "expert" IV nurse after the first try was a no go, about six people in our little curtained area cooing over her and making a fuss over her. When complete strangers start calling you "princess" and saying how pretty you are, things apparently don't look so bad. I am not kidding when I say that pretty much every person who came into contact with her at the hospital called her either beautiful or pretty. And that is my humblebrag for the day.
Another was that by some miracle, the nurse dosing her with the initial oral sedative (Versed) managed to get almost the entire amount in the syringe down her throat on the first try. This led to absolutely no fighting when the IV was attempted, and I was so very relieved that she was not traumatized.
We also were assigned (unbeknownst to me until we checked in) a child specialist who acted as sort of a liaison between us, the nurses, and Babygirl. She did an excellent job at explaining what was going to happen, and they had a great time putting an IV (with real tubing) into a stuffed Mickey Mouse. Bonus, she got to keep the Mickey Mouse and was enjoying putting "medicine" into the tubing with the syringe they gave her.
The Versed made her nice and calm and pliable, and she did not cry even once throughout the entire morning. We were able to follow her all the way into the CT room, and watched as the anesthesiologist injected the Propofol into her IV. I was completely unprepared for how emotional I became as I watched the Propofol quickly kick in, and she flopped forward with a confused look on her face. We were even warned that there might be a moment of her being "agitated." The staff, of course, was ready for this and caught her as she was already pretty much asleep. But just that second of transition from conscious to unconscious was enough to send both Hubba-hubba and me into tears. I have no idea why, possibly because some sort of ancient protective instinct at seeing her so defenseless. It took me more than a few minutes to calm down, but I finally pulled myself out of it.
After the CT was finished, we accompanied our still sleeping daughter (which was odd and bizarre because she is just never asleep during the day) to the recovery room. She took a good long while to wake up, and did so without too much panic or fear. I think she took so long to wake up because I had noticed she was very cold, and the nurses put a warmed blanket on her. This probably made her nice and toasty and unwilling to part from slumber.
Babygirl insisted on occupying the wheelchair all by herself, even though she was supposed to be sitting in my lap. She was shivering and her teeth were chattering, and the orderly who was wheeling her down was kind enough to take a different route to the entrance so that she could get out into the warm summer sun.
When Hubba-hubba pulled up, our daughter cried out, "No! Stay here!"
Which was good, and yet insulting at the same time.
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