Happy December! We put up all of the decorations on Monday night, but it hardly seems real that the Christmas season is here. I love the festive house, but it doesn't agree with our nearly-two-year-old. Within 24 hours of decorating, Natalie had shattered one of my favorite pieces...a musical snowglobe from my mom-in-law. Clearly I should have known better, it was left in her reach. Next year we'll have two little ones getting into things: Christopher will be a typical toddler handful and Natalie will...well, she'll still be Natalie.
We just love her to bits. Her personality livens up our home. It's so interesting how each of our children adds something different to the mix.
Now to the point! In case you don't remember, Natalie has had tear duct issues for over a year now. In March, she underwent surgery in both ducts to open them and allow them to function correctly. Unfortunately, the surgery was only effective in one eye (at least from our perspective). Her left eye was clear and dry, while her right was still very wet, drippy, and prone to infections. We procrastinated the appointment to see the pediatric ophthalmologist...we just couldn't bear the idea of another surgery, however minor.
Today was Natalie's appointment. The doctor put a yellow dye drop into each eye and watched to see what happened to it. In fully-functioning tear ducts, the dye would drain into the duct and into the nasal cavity. With a blue light, the doc can see the dye when looking into the nose. In closed-ducts, it will just drip out onto the face and none of it will be detected through the nose.
Right away the doctor said he saw some of the dye had drained appropriately. And after waiting a few minutes, he said he could see some in the nose. He determined that her tear duct is partially closed or "narrowed." In most instances, the child slowly outgrows the problem. The doctor was confident that by age 3 or 4, her tear duct will function normally.
NO SURGERY! (He did say that if it was really bothering us, he would go back in a put in a stint, but he encouraged us to be patient and watch for slow improvement.)
My sweet, snowglobe-breaking, almost-2-year-old got a few extra hugs this afternoon and I have let out more than a few sighs of relief.
By the way, Natalie charmed the socks off her doctor. While we were waiting for the drops to move through the duct, she was running in circles around the exam room and giggling like she was at DisneyWorld. We're going to have to work on her problem with timidity.
Showing posts with label Eye surgery. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Eye surgery. Show all posts
Wednesday, December 02, 2009
Wednesday, March 11, 2009
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.
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.
Thursday, February 26, 2009
Natalie....our 1 in 200.
Sorry we've been absent for a week! Good grief...it isn't as if we don't have material!
Many of you know that our Natalie has broken ALL the rules since birth. You know the books you read that say, "This works in 98% of cases." ? Or "Approximately 98% respond positively to this."? Well, Natalie IS the other 2%.
"Colic ends at about 4 months"...not for Natalie, hers lasted at least 6 months.
"Rarely do babies give up nursing; it tends to be mom that gives up"...not Natalie, she turned her head and screamed at 7 months, never to nurse again.
"In 99.5% of babies, tear ducts open naturally, within the first year of life."...you got it, not Natalie. She is 1 out of 200 that will require artificial help.
So, in less than two weeks, our precocious little spitfire will be put under general anesthesia and a pediatric ophthalmologist will do his thing and give those little tear ducts the boost they need. We've known this was coming. Her eyes are ALWAYS teary. People comment ALL THE TIME. "Oh, she's been crying!" or "Look at those alligator tears." But, you see, when your tear ducts are blocked, the natural liquid that forms in your eyes has nowhere to go. In adults (and most children), our tears drain back into the tear ducts and into our nasal passages. So unless there is an excess of fluid, like when you're actually crying, your eyes really shouldn't drip onto your face. Poor Natalie. We have countless pictures of our big-smiled girl with drippy eyes. It really does look pathetic, but it has never seemed to bother her. So, like I said, we knew this was coming.
BUT...it became very real yesterday when we visited the pediatric ophthalmologist and he did the tests necessary to prove the problem, then escorted us into the office to make the appointment for SURGERY! Surgery? Seriously? Could we NOT use that word? Apparently there are no knives or scalpels needed in Nat's "procedure;" they enter through the tear ducts and clear out the duct using a balloon-kind-of-thing. You know, it goes in uninflated, then they inflate it to open up the duct passage. The doctor actually said, "We usually don't even need to give pain meds in these surgeries." Okay dude, I'm hearing you, just please don't use the word "surgery" when referring to my 13-month-old ever again. I-think-I-might-be-hyperventilating.
Of course, there are possible "complications." Of course! When are there NOT possible complications? And, please refer to the beginning of my post, remember our Natalie IS the other 2%. PLEASE do not tell me that you see "complications" in about 2% of cases, because I'm pretty sure I'll start screaming right here in your fancy office.
He wisely did not share any stats, but calmly informed me that the ducts can "re-collapse," but if that happens, it would happen during the "procedure" and they would then insert stints (kind of like ear tubes) to keep the ducts open. The tubes would then be removed (in the office - no surgery necessary) a few months later. That's complication #1. No big deal...it makes a 15 minute "procedure" into a 30-40 minute "procedure" and doesn't carry any additional risks. The other complication that can occur is if the child contracts a sinus infection or bad cold within 2-3 months AFTER the procedure. Sometimes (I'm sure it's something like 2%) the ducts will re-collapse if the cold occurs too close to the "procedure." In this case, we would have to start from scratch and do the thing all over again.
My nerves just can't take this. Seriously. What if one of our amazingly healthy children wasn't so amazingly healthy? Yesterday made me even more grateful that this is the biggest "procedure" we've had to face.
So, you need to pray for us. The nurse was trying to calm my nerves, so she started telling me that Natalie will not be upset when they TAKE HER FROM ME, because they will give her meds that make her loopy and happy. Okay, so thanks for putting that image in my head. My thought processes had not even gone to the here's-my-child-for-you-to-cut-into stage. THANKS. A. LOT. Now it's the only image that keeps coming back...she may not be crying, but I still have to watch them take her away! Are you kidding me?
Oh and get this! Her procedure is not until 1:00 PM in the afternoon because this doc only operates in our hospital on Tuesday afternoons. That's all fine and dandy until they tell you that your 13-month-old cannot eat after midnight the night before! That, my friends, is going to be one-heck-of-a-long-day. You see, Natalie has discovered the pantry. And she simply loves it. How are we going to distract her from eating? And did I mention that she usually still has a mini-bottle in the middle of the night? Good grief.
Any suggestions would be appreciated. And please, please, please, don't write in the comments, "We'll be praying for Natalie's SURGERY." Because, I swear, if I hear that word again I'm going to puke. Or scream. Or cry. Yep, definitely one of those.
Many of you know that our Natalie has broken ALL the rules since birth. You know the books you read that say, "This works in 98% of cases." ? Or "Approximately 98% respond positively to this."? Well, Natalie IS the other 2%.
"Colic ends at about 4 months"...not for Natalie, hers lasted at least 6 months.
"Rarely do babies give up nursing; it tends to be mom that gives up"...not Natalie, she turned her head and screamed at 7 months, never to nurse again.
"In 99.5% of babies, tear ducts open naturally, within the first year of life."...you got it, not Natalie. She is 1 out of 200 that will require artificial help.
So, in less than two weeks, our precocious little spitfire will be put under general anesthesia and a pediatric ophthalmologist will do his thing and give those little tear ducts the boost they need. We've known this was coming. Her eyes are ALWAYS teary. People comment ALL THE TIME. "Oh, she's been crying!" or "Look at those alligator tears." But, you see, when your tear ducts are blocked, the natural liquid that forms in your eyes has nowhere to go. In adults (and most children), our tears drain back into the tear ducts and into our nasal passages. So unless there is an excess of fluid, like when you're actually crying, your eyes really shouldn't drip onto your face. Poor Natalie. We have countless pictures of our big-smiled girl with drippy eyes. It really does look pathetic, but it has never seemed to bother her. So, like I said, we knew this was coming.
BUT...it became very real yesterday when we visited the pediatric ophthalmologist and he did the tests necessary to prove the problem, then escorted us into the office to make the appointment for SURGERY! Surgery? Seriously? Could we NOT use that word? Apparently there are no knives or scalpels needed in Nat's "procedure;" they enter through the tear ducts and clear out the duct using a balloon-kind-of-thing. You know, it goes in uninflated, then they inflate it to open up the duct passage. The doctor actually said, "We usually don't even need to give pain meds in these surgeries." Okay dude, I'm hearing you, just please don't use the word "surgery" when referring to my 13-month-old ever again. I-think-I-might-be-hyperventilating.
Of course, there are possible "complications." Of course! When are there NOT possible complications? And, please refer to the beginning of my post, remember our Natalie IS the other 2%. PLEASE do not tell me that you see "complications" in about 2% of cases, because I'm pretty sure I'll start screaming right here in your fancy office.
He wisely did not share any stats, but calmly informed me that the ducts can "re-collapse," but if that happens, it would happen during the "procedure" and they would then insert stints (kind of like ear tubes) to keep the ducts open. The tubes would then be removed (in the office - no surgery necessary) a few months later. That's complication #1. No big deal...it makes a 15 minute "procedure" into a 30-40 minute "procedure" and doesn't carry any additional risks. The other complication that can occur is if the child contracts a sinus infection or bad cold within 2-3 months AFTER the procedure. Sometimes (I'm sure it's something like 2%) the ducts will re-collapse if the cold occurs too close to the "procedure." In this case, we would have to start from scratch and do the thing all over again.
My nerves just can't take this. Seriously. What if one of our amazingly healthy children wasn't so amazingly healthy? Yesterday made me even more grateful that this is the biggest "procedure" we've had to face.
So, you need to pray for us. The nurse was trying to calm my nerves, so she started telling me that Natalie will not be upset when they TAKE HER FROM ME, because they will give her meds that make her loopy and happy. Okay, so thanks for putting that image in my head. My thought processes had not even gone to the here's-my-child-for-you-to-cut-into stage. THANKS. A. LOT. Now it's the only image that keeps coming back...she may not be crying, but I still have to watch them take her away! Are you kidding me?
Oh and get this! Her procedure is not until 1:00 PM in the afternoon because this doc only operates in our hospital on Tuesday afternoons. That's all fine and dandy until they tell you that your 13-month-old cannot eat after midnight the night before! That, my friends, is going to be one-heck-of-a-long-day. You see, Natalie has discovered the pantry. And she simply loves it. How are we going to distract her from eating? And did I mention that she usually still has a mini-bottle in the middle of the night? Good grief.
Any suggestions would be appreciated. And please, please, please, don't write in the comments, "We'll be praying for Natalie's SURGERY." Because, I swear, if I hear that word again I'm going to puke. Or scream. Or cry. Yep, definitely one of those.
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