Matthew Goes To The Hospital

On Tuesday Matthew had a minor surgery that had been planned for a couple of weeks. It almost didn’t happen because he came down with a cold the weekend before. A nurse took his temperature and measured his oxygen level, which were both fine, and then the anesthesiologist did an exam before giving the okay to proceed.


The surgeon came by to say hello and drew a smiley face on his right hand to mark the side that he was having his surgery on. Matt was on his very best behavior, as all these new people kept giving him presents, like the marking pen, a quilt to keep that was on his crib like hospital bed, red slipper socks, not to mention lots of attention, like the med student who played peek a boo with him.

“Is he your first child? Is he your only child?” The doctors and nurses asked, making small talk, before promising to take good care of him. Matthew was then given a drink with an unfamiliar medical name that I can’t recall, but it was something like baby valium. Matthew became elated to change into his elephant and clown gown and lie in his hospital crib-bed. He bumped his head on the side of the crib, “Oh no, I need a doctor,” he cutely moaned.

“Do you have any final questions for me?” the nurse asked us.

“Can he bring his blankie?” I asked.

“Of course,” the nurse granted permission.

The surgery was relatively common and safe so Bob and I felt more that we wanted it over with instead of worried. At least we thought we felt that way until we watched him get wheeled away in a gurney and we felt tears in our eyes.

We waited for an hour until the surgeon came out and let us know that everything went great. Matthew was sleeping off the anesthesia so we waited another thirty minutes until a nurse came and brought us to the recovery room when he was waking up.

My first thought was that Matthew smelled like medicine instead of himself. His left arm was bandaged with gauze where the IV was attached. The nurse asked me hold him even thought he was writhing in pain and asking to lie on the floor. She gave him more medicine which took the edge off of his pain. His eventually drank some juice and watched a little bit of television. Once we were discharged Matthew seemed to enjoy the wheelchair ride to the car.

That afternoon he was sore and cranky until bedtime. When we tried to give him some Tylenol he said he wanted to throw it in the trash. Bob handed him apple juice in a cup but he said he wanted mommy to hand it to him instead. Each time his head slumped down on the pillows he yelped for help. He settled in our bedroom watching a week worth of Calliou episodes, recorded in preparation for the occasion. We read him his favorite truck books, and let him eat dry toast, popsicles, and banana slices in bed. When he started asking for chocolate milk and cookies we knew that he was on the mend.

That night after he was tucked into bed, Bob and I put together two tupperware boxes of train tracks that were handed down to us. It took up the entire living room floor once we were finished. In the morning Matthew seemed less crabby and more mobile. When I carried him to the living room his eyes lit up. He more or less demolished the perfect bridges and some of the trains fell off the tracks but he still loved it.

Late in the morning our friends Michelle and Zach stopped by, bearing gifts and a plate of cookies. They only planned on staying a couple minutes but the boys wanted to play longer, so we got to sneak in a little play date.

For the rest of the day Bob and I took turns from working from home and keeping an eye on our little patient. Matthew took a long nap in the afternoon. For dinner he asked for cupcakes, but we said no.