Recuperating

It is done. After wearing a catheter for two and a half days, Primero is now officially able to urinate the good old fashioned way. He was simply elated that he didn’t have to literally squeeze the pee out of himself and described his stream as a torpedo. Boys! His surgery yesterday was rather uneventful and by all accounts went off without a hitch. We were at the hospital at 6 am for his pre-op paperwork and preparation. The anesthesiologist had him use the nebulizer because he was a little wheezy due to his head cold and all the stress of this past week. There was a minor issue of the pre-op nurse not having the consent but I assured her I had spoken to the doctor’s P.A. and she told me they had the consent from the court order via BCCYS. Two men came to wheel Primero away and allowed me to follow them until I reached the waiting room. As they turned the gurney towards the door I cried out “Wait!” They paused and I sheepishly asked, “Can I give him a kiss?” The taller (younger and cuter) guy said to Primero, “Darn, I thought she was talking to me.” I explained I didn’t want to embarrass him in front of everyone, so I wanted to give him a kiss before they pushed him out of the room. With the gurney being nearly chest high, I had to stand on my tippy-toes to reach his forehead. The nurse anesthetist joked with me telling me I can kiss Primero as much as I want and stopped outside the waiting room for me to kiss him again, calling for all those around to watch the embarrassing kiss. Primero, not a kid who gets embarrassed by much, took it in stride and smiled as they wheeled him away.

 

I walked into the busy waiting room and sat down, my stomach churning. I was nervous. I don’t know why I was nervous, I trusted the medical staff taking care of Primero and I knew he would be fine and that he would sail through surgery with no problems, but still my stomach was in knots. I sat in my chair and tried to read, finding my story held no interest. I text friends and posted something on Facebook and checked the large TV screen that held the color coded numbers of all the people in surgery that morning. I would stare at the screen until Primero’s number (37688 – I memorized it) showed on the screen. Every time I would feel my stomach summersault, I would say another prayer for my boy. That’s how I began seeing him and thinking of him, as my sweet boy. It didn’t help that my active imagination had me visualizing what was happening to him at that moment, picturing his sweet face obscured with the breathing tube, his eyes taped shut and his neatly coifed hair mussed in an ugly blue hairnet. I saw all the medical staff gathered around him, checking his vitals as he doctor tugged the catheter out and began slicing. These are not mental images a mother wants when trying to wait calmly. At least the hospital was treating me like his mother, allowing me to stay with him and to be with him in the recovery room.

 

“Is Primero’s mom here?” the receptionist in the waiting room called out. I jumped up (thinking “Hey! That’s *ME*!!) and went to the wall phone where she directed me. The doctor was on the other line (the urologist I don’t like) and he told me that Primero did very well, that things were pretty sore but he expects a full recovery and that Primero could go back to school the following day. I was happy to hear the good news and resumed my position waiting for another 15-20 minutes or so before a nurse came in the room and called my name and another name. Me and the other mother followed the nurse down the long hallway to where our children were recovering from their surgery. She pushed open the door and indicated we should find our children. “There’s mine,” I whispered and walked to Primero’s bedside. He looked peaceful and sweet in his sleep, but the oxygen tube in his nose bothered him, so he wiggled it out and had it on his upper lip. The same nurse who teased him about my kisses was there and joked that Primero would get oxygen through osmosis. The recovery nurse and I tried to get Primero to keep the tube in his nose, but he kept pulling it out. I stood beside his bed, watching him sleep, staring at his sweet heart-shaped face and thick, dark eyelashes, the freckles across his cheeks, and his lips hanging open and I thought about how lucky I was to be his mom. He began waking up and when he looked at me I smiled. I stroked his cheek and tucked his hair behind his ear. I spoke softly to him, telling him he did good and it was all over. Later, when he was more awake, he told me my voice was the first one he heard as he was waking up. I’m so glad because for some reason, this whole debacle has made me feel deficient in expressing to Primero just how much he means to me. I feel like I can’t do enough to make him feel loved, wanted and cared for. I want him to know that as long as I am drawing breath, I am here for him.

 

Any residual worry or doubt I had about feeling like I was a mother evaporated this week during the ordeal. In fact, I’ve been irritated by people who have said, “welcome to parenthood” in response to what we’ve dealt with this week. This is not my first parenting experience. I’ve had other children in foster care that have required medical attention or had minor accidents. Certainly, dealing with a toddler meltdown in public could be considered an act of parenthood! Or having a toddler throw up on you in public? Not to mention getting in touch with my inner mama bear when the transportation company neglected to call me when Primero’s van was damaged in a hail storm and he was expected home much later than his regular time. Or how about the time he got stuck at school because the track coach wouldn’t let him go to the game for missing practice and I called the school in a huff over them letting him unsupervised at school without a ride. How many bad dreams have I soothed? How many boo-boo’s have I kissed? How many time outs have I administered? Do none of these things count as parenting? By my own estimate, I’ve been a parent now for three years. Primero is my eighth kid. This was not an introduction to parenthood because I’ve already been there and done that. It was just a traumatic event that we both endured together, making our close bond all the stronger due to this calamity. Never have I felt more love for another human being than when I walked into the treatment room in the ER Monday and saw Primero’s face and the blood between his legs and I felt his pain as only a mother could. Never has my mothering instinct been stronger than when I stood over him as he awoke from anesthesia and blinked sleepily up at me. It’s unbelievable how much I love this child and I want nothing more than for him to know and to feel how much I love him. I want him to take it for granted because that’s how it’s supposed to be as a teenager. Don’t worry about pushing Mom away because you can’t, she’s not going anywhere. Rebel, yell, scream, she’ll scream back but she will always await with open arms for you to come back to her. I want him to feel that security in me and our relationship. He has told me thank you for being there with him, but I don’t think he should have to thank me for simply doing what a mother is supposed to do.

 

Last week, before all the drama, I had ordered some pictures (selfies!) Primero and I took of ourselves and a few my photographer friend took of us. They came in the mail on Monday, so when I was at work Tuesday, I plastered our pictures around my cubicle. I took a picture of it and told Primero that I made sure to have an image of him at every angle so no matter where I looked I would see him. He giggled at this, but I knew it made him happy to hear it. I got him a get well soon card today and this is what I wrote inside:

 

“I waited a long time for you my beautiful son. I prayed daily that God would guide you to me and that is how I describe our meeting, divine intervention. I knew I would love you very much but I never thought the feeling would be this strong. You are not blood of my blood nor flesh of my flesh but you are very much mine. My beloved, my adored, my cherished child. I knew I would love you and it was so easy to fall in love with such a beautiful, amazing boy like you. You are smart and funny and you bring so much joy to my life. You are a very talented young man with such a kind and caring heart. I can’t tell you enough how much I love you. You are my son. My beloved, much anticipated son. I knew I would love you but I didn’t realize I would be so proud of you, so impressed with what a magnificent young man you are. I can’t promise a life of ease with no problems, but I can promise to be there for every bump, every twist and turn. I am yours and you are mine. Forevermore I love you my heart, my most precious son. Love, Mom”