My son, Conor, had a little “work done” a couple of weeks ago. That’s the Hollywood term for surgery, though in Conor’s case it doesn’t refer to a cosmetic procedure. No Brazilian Butt Lift here. In fact, nothing major at all. Just a little abdominal surgery to repair a hernia. No biggie. I was totally casual about the whole thing. Totally.
On the outside.
On the inside, I was a ball of anxiety because my baby was going under general anesthesia and I worried that he would handle it as well as I do, which is to say not well at all. My body is generally against drugs, especially anything that threatens to relieve pain, and reacts like a tweaker in an imaginary snake pit. It’s charming to watch, just ask Hubs.
My daughter, Riley, was also experiencing some anxiety over Conor’s surgery, saying comforting things like, “when they cut Conor open…” and “if Conor dies…”, so I scheduled a busy day for all of us the day before the surgery to keep our minds off of the whole thing.
Riley has an overactive imagination. I don’t know where she gets it.
This picture is in no way meant to suggest that she gets it from me. Or that I’ve lost half my teeth.
At the end of the day Conor collapsed into bed, which is when I noticed that he was FILTHY. Evidently at school he’d decided to roll in the sand and climb through a carburetor. Since it was well past bed time and my sweet boy is not known for his sunny morning disposition or ability to retain a great attitude without sleep or food, I let my little hobo fall asleep in the midst of his filth, thinking that I’d clean him up before we left in the morning.
Good plan…
if the giant Coke I had for lunch hadn’t fed my anxiety, which in turn fueled some situational insomnia. I stared at the ceiling most of the night and slipped into a deep sleep right before the alarm went off. At least I assume it went off. I didn’t hear it. I woke up with just enough time to throw on clothes, grab Conor, plop him in the car and make it to the Children’s Hospital by his 6:00 a.m. check in, where I repeatedly apologized to every nurse within earshot for bringing in a stinky, unwashed child for surgery.
Seriously, I can’t remember the last time I was ever that embarrassed over my parental shortcomings. I mean general incompetence is fine but hygiene neglect…that’s just wrong.
“Mama doesn’t wash me til the creek thaws and the hogs are slaughtered.”
Three hours of shame and two meltdowns later (Conor found the blood pressure cuff and tiger pajamas traumatizing), he was in surgery and I was staring blankly at a wall in the waiting room.
![The elephant tranquilizer is just kicking in [looks like I'm not the only one hallucinating]](https://fatheadfollies.files.wordpress.com/2013/03/conorsurgery.jpg)
Don’t let the drunken joie de vivre fool you, he despises those pajamas.
Standing there uselessly I had plenty of time to wonder about things such as why Hubs has absolutely no problem with gay men, but is deeply offended by Vespas, Mazda Miatas and small fluffy white dogs. And also why the nurse didn’t know what the word “defecating” meant which seemed to me like a word that a nurse should know.
The recovery nurse finally shoved Conor into an adult sized diaper and signed his discharge papers before he soiled the entire recovery wing.
At the end of the day Conor had face planted off the recliner and the couch, as well as crapped his way through two gurneys, four diapers, two pairs of pajamas and a new rug. Impressive. But we are fairly certain the hernia is gone.
And he got to take home a glove balloon and crap-filled adult diaper. Score!
Fathead Follies 
So glad things turned out okay for your son–well, except for the diarrhea. 😉 My oldest has had to have general anesthesia twice–once to set a broken arm and once to get his tonsils out. I was a nervous both times. So hard to watch our babies go through that. And to think my son just had simple procedures. My heart goes out to those parents who have to deal with so much more.
There are so many really sick kids at that hospital. It makes me feel very fortunate that mine are relatively healthy. I can’t even imagine the weight that some of those parents are carrying.
Wouldn’t have made any difference if you’d washed him up. Usually doesn’t. Motherhood is not for sissies.
Nothing fell off because he was dirty but at the time I was mortified and had visions of staph infections and necrotizing fascitis.
Oh, poor baby! Love to you and the kiddo.
Thanks. There was another kid in recovery at the same time who was in for his third surgery on the same damn finger, so as long as we don’t have to go back and have it redone I feel very fortunate.
I have come to the decision that clean children aren’t to be trusted… Also, a nurse who doesn’t know the word “defecating” should probably be fired. (Is that harsh? Sorry if that’s harsh… I’m sure she was very helpful.) Hope you have all recovered and that Conor never has to wear tiger pajamas again!
I know, right? I was baffled and just dazed enough to wonder if I’d dug up some outdated term or something. Then again I’ve heard that word in a Fugees song so it isn’t that obscure. I don’t know, but I do know that that particular nurse disappeared when the sh!t hit the fan, so to speak. Maybe she went off to study her vocabulary.
I had no idea that was something that ever happened. At least he didnt care! Bless your heart!
Dont get me wrong…I’m laughing my ASS off right now! 😉
I didn’t either. They gave him anti-nausea medicine but apparently nobody thought about the other end. We like to bring something new to the table.
hahahaha!!! wish i had been there with a bunch of popsicles for the kids and frozen margaritas for you and Rusty!
I couldn’t have even raised a glass to my mouth at the end of the day. Seriously, Donna I couldn’t even form a complete sentence and it seemed like every time I turned around Conor had either fallen off something or crapped on it.
What are the chances the new rug was at the hospital and not your house?
Not good. Luckily I had towels and a slip cover on the couch. A lot of things got thrown away that day.
It’s Connor’s idea of Spring Cleaning.
Between his intestinal problem and Riley’s lice scare, there was a lot of spring cleaning around here.
It’s official: I am going to stop complaining about pet hair. In the Dirty Things War Lice and Poop are worse than Tufts of Pet Hair.
The good news is that you look great without your upper dentures and Conor is adorable in those pjs. Glad the surgery was successful, and everyone’s home safely, if not stinkily. =)
Thank you! I think I wear hillbilly rather well. It must be my inner white trash.
The best laugh is one that comes at someone else’s expense, and I’m dyin’ heah. Some people just know how to have a good time. I’m glad Conor is industrial strength, as most boys his age are, and came through the whole thing in fine shape while providing you with killer material. Well played!
Yeah, kids are Teflon coated. Sometimes I feel down right delicate in comparison. However I can buck up and get though nearly anything if I’m promised a good story out of it. My kids rarely disappoint me on that score. I’m glad you enjoyed it.
Let’s face it — if it weren’t for the hilarious stories (eventually), few thinking adults would opt for children.
Oh hell, I forget to hit the reply button again. Silly me.
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