Let's NOT do that again, kay?

The title statement is one that David and I have repeated to each other at least 6 times in the 20 hours or so since we left the hospital yesterday. I may have even said it a few times in my sleep (I use the term "sleep" quite loosely since it was more like 7 hours of unsettled rest).

Our Natalie made it through her traumatic day yesterday, although it was equally traumatic for her parents. It was tricky to keep her away from food in the morning, but it didn't get bad until we were shown to our mini-room at the hospital. I don't know if the hunger truly hit at this point, or if she started to become aware of our nerves and reacted accordingly. We had to be at the hospital about 2 hours before the surgery, so you can imagine this time period with a hungry and tired baby was long. About 20 minutes before the surgery, Nat was given a liquid medicine that we will call "happy juice." If a day like that could have a highlight, that was certainly it! Within moments of taking it, she became fabulously happy and totally weak. We carried her around like a big, happy, wet noodle. She could hardly hold in her pacifier because she couldn't stop grinning. It was totally goofy! (And kinda fun...we told the nurses she had never been that relaxed or that happy in her entire life!)

We chatted for a moment with the surgeon and the anesthesiologist before a nurse lovingly took her from my arms. I believe in being truthful, so I won't lie and say I held it all together. I'm a crier. It takes very little for me to cry. So, you might imagine that watching my daughter being carried away from us was not pleasant for me. I might have even had that ugly-cry face going. It was somewhat helpful that Natalie was so happy, but it was still very difficult for us. We were told that the surgeon would come to talk to us as soon as he finished, while Natalie would be "waking up" in the recovery room. After that, she would rejoin us in our mini-outpatient room for about an hour before we could go home. Only about 25 minutes after we kissed her goodbye, the surgeon was back with us saying, "She's mad now."

Here's where things got interesting. Apparently some children have a very hard time coming out of the anesthesia. Some are whiny and out of sorts, others scream. Can you guess which was Natalie? As we finished a follow-up chat with the surgeon, we heard Natalie screaming down the hall. A nurse smiled as she brought her to us and for the next HOUR we fought with a SCREAMING, FLAILING, KICKING, BACK-ARCHING, CRYING Natalie. I know you just read over that without comprehending, so I gotta reiterate. For an entire hour we fought to keep her safely in our arms while she behaved as if her fingernails were being pulled out, one by one.

We lived through 6 months of colic, but I'm here to tell you, this was the LONGEST HOUR OF OUR LIVES.

About halfway into it, two nurses came to relieve us so that we could take a walk, get a drink, and take a deep breath. As we were standing outside the room (yes, I was crying again), another nurse approached and gave me a tissue. Then she said, "This is totally normal." HUH? Okay, I'll accept that Nat awoke quite disoriented with strangers all around her, and maybe a headache or some discomfort from the actual procedure. I'll even accept the whole crying thing. But wouldn't it have been helpful if someone had WARNED us that this could be her reaction? We still would have been helpless to solve her problem, but at least we wouldn't have been so shocked and unprepared. I'm just saying, a warning of the possible waking-up routine would have been appreciated.

So, after the longest-hour-in-our-lives, Natalie collapsed in my arms, fast asleep. She slept through a final check from the nurses, putting on a coat, leaving the hospital, stopping for gas, stopping to pick up Allyson, arriving home, getting out of her coat, and being laid in her bed. It was a little freaky how out-of-it she was. She awoke about 3 hours after the screaming thing with the appetite of a lion and ate 2 1/2 blueberry pancakes and 1/2 of a banana.

This morning, we met with the ophthalmologist/surgeon for a follow-up visit. One of her eyes is still a bit teary, but he said this could be the case for a few days. He said that if it continues for a month, we'll need to head back in and repeat. (Wanna know how I feel about that? Please see title.)

Thanks for your prayers on our traumatic day. I'm telling you, I would be a blazing hot mess if my children had a "real" surgery...you know, one that requires scalpels and IV's and such. I'd be a puddle on the floor outside the operating room. Last night we were totally exhausted...it was one of those nights that you're so tired you can't sleep. And the whole day kept swirling through my mind, over and over again.

I asked David this morning how he slept...he sleepily replied, "I took a Tylenol PM, I was out." Yet another downfall of pregnancy...no Tylenol PM allowed.