Tonsillectomy Love and Subtext

I prepared for this week for months, using most of my time consciously dreading it. Sam had a tonsillectomy last week, and I am pleasantly not astonished by his strength, tenacity and humor. The boy does amaze.

Out of the gate, it was worse than I'd imagined. Sam won't ever allow us to give half-facts, or omit details. When we told him that his tonsils would be removed, he asked, "What exactly does the doctor do?" Oh, damn. I'd forgotten who we were dealing with: little Matt. Questions, questions, more questions. ;)

So, we told him. We told him pretty much every step, and Matt concluded that the doctor would likely use a samurai machete. Sam thought briefly that that might actually be cool.

But here is the one step where we foundered: anesthesia. He'd been through it before, but we pared down the complex storytelling by summarizing: "You'll wake up and we'll be there." NOT TRUE.

He woke up, apparently, as Matt and I watched the monitor for the little "bandage" icon to appear on the waiting room screen. When it did, we were quickly led down a hallway, and I heard crying. I said, "That's my child!" Quite distressed, we turned the corner to find Sam on his hands and knees, blood on the pillow and sheets, writhing all around the bed. I touched him, said, "We're here, sweetie," and he, with his little voided tonsils said, "Mommy...!" Matt rubbed his body, and the nurses swiftly got my ass in bed with that kid. Damn it. Damn it, damn it, damn it. We didn't plan it that way!

I lay holding him, and he immediately fell asleep. The nurse said, "That's what he needed." I was being strong, stroking his hair, holding the ice pack in place, but inside I was bawling and shaking and hating it for him. Tears were streaming down my face, and a lump grew in the back of my throat, but I said things like, "There, there," because those are mom words. Matt was standing right there, definitely doing the same thing with more masculinity.

Matt and I are both perfectionists, so imagine the stress permeating the recovery room 30 minutes later, when the sound of my voice wouldn't stop talking about "it," and Matt had to "take a call" from the office. The show must go on (but at that moment, I was pissed). McCorporation.

But this horrific experience has resulted in one of the best weeks of my life. Sam and I have cuddled and stared at each other a thousand times since Tuesday. He attempts to spell things in the air instead of talking, his husky voice has raised an octave, and I'm still holding the ice pack in place. Matt calls constantly from McCorp during the day to check on us, and we've both been up half the night, every night, administering pain medications. During all of this, Sam has still managed a few "Rock to Fakies" at the skate park with his dad, and plenty of smiles.

Two things I'll never forget (and if I do, thank God I keep a daily journal): The first night, when I walked past Sam's bed on my way to get more ice, he squeaked out, "I love you, Mom."

The second night, he rubbed my arm and said, "Go to sleep, Mommy, go to sleep."

50th Anniversary Bash

My step-mom put it best when she said, "You're the travelingest people I've ever met!" The fact that we get away often is on the Top 10 List of things I love about my marriage. Matt and I are great travelers, both open to anything new, and trying to find as much adventure in a single vacation day. It is no surprise that Sam is following in our footsteps. Sam is wide-eyed to the world, and the things he's experienced have made him a cool little dude with absolutely no attitude. We are so lucky. We cannot wait to see who he becomes; I think he's going to be quite something, but if he doesn't learn to clean up his room, we'll put the kibosh on all future ventures. Ahem.

We traveled to California for Matt's parents' 50th wedding anniversary, which was a complete surprise for them since their good-doings often go unrewarded. We left our house at 3:00 a.m., and were in Cali by 9:15 a.m.. I dropped Matt at his office there (a nice perk for him now), and Sam and I headed to a hotel in Costa Mesa. I gave the girl at the front desk our sad story (it was 10 o'clock in the morning), that we were from Indiana, that we were in town for a big surprise party that didn't take place for nearly 12 more hours, that my child was jet-lagged (he was fine) and, behold, she let us check in early. Oh, humanity! I think adding the part about Indiana always helps, because no one west of Kansas knows where Indiana is, so they give you this, "Oh, you poor thing, living life deprived" look, and bingo, you're in.

Sam and I swam all day at the hotel California, ate a really expensive lunch, I ironed everyone's clothes for dinner, and we picked Matt up early and headed to Newport Beach. I didn't feel like doing the beach thing with Sam earlier. I was in the mood for a heated pool and a bathroom really close. There's always the issue of filling your pockets with quarters to feed the meters at Newport (it's very old school), constantly keeping an eye on "your stuff," which includes your child, and I knew that it would be packed with summer tourists. It was. Matt and Sam couldn't surf that day because the beach had been "black-balled" (too many swimmers, no surfboards allowed). And the people, the thousands and thousands of people, were giving me hives.

Time for a margarita!

We whiled them away until the meeting hour, when a very large restaurant table was filled with the F'an family. All three brothers, girlfriend, token wife (that's me), cousins, and Matt's parents' best friends from Chicago. Surprise! It took Matt's parents several minutes to conceive that the party was for them. It wasn't my parents...but it was awesome to see their faces, nonetheless. Sam fell asleep three minutes later. :)