Electric Heart Part II

Click here for Part One

We were sent home from Wolfson's with a prescription for Beta Blockers and strict orders for Nicholas to sit on his butt.  No running bases. No chasing girls.  Within a week, we would return for the surgery that would scar my son's chest but leave him with the equivalent of having an EMT follow him around to keep him safe for the rest of his life.  I liked the odds.

The day was long.  A while before they took him back for surgery, my mother, sister and two nieces surprised us in the waiting room.  They had driven over 3 hours to be there during his surgery. 

Family is everything.

His Dad, his Mom, his beloved Uncle, his Grandma, His Aunt Beth and his cousins, Karolyn and Susan watched him being led away, his favorite stuffed animal, a dog he named Davey, tightly tucked under his arm.  

My husband's office sent an Edible Arrangement.  How odd, I thought.  Wouldn't a teddy bear or balloons be more appropriate for an child?  Then I realized it was for us because our hearts were broken too.  

Clocks ticked but their hands moved so slow.

The pineapple was too sweet, the melon not sweet enough and I dared anyone to touch the chocolate covered strawberries.  Those were for Nicholas.  

Tick

Tock

Tick

Tock

Tick

And then I saw the tired, smiling face of his surgeon come through the door.

Tock.

...

After a successful surgery, we were able to see him briefly before they wheeled him to his room.  He was still mostly sedated but was wincing horribly and I could tell he was in pain.  By the time we were in a room and he was placed in the bed, he was opening his eyes, crying out and trying to thrash about in response to the pain.  It took way too long for them to bring in the morphine.  We were in for a long night.

I stayed with him, of course.  His dad and uncle were given a room at the Ronald McDonald House.  The next morning, my husband told me he'd given them a nice donation and that he was humbled by the sight of sickly children and the moms and dads who carried the world on their shoulders.  I think he might have realized then that we were now members of the same club.  When you have a child with a life threatening disease, it adds a lot of weight and you know you're going to need to get a lot stronger to hold up your end.  

But we were luckier than most.

We were able to leave the hospital a day later.  Nicholas was on heavy pain medication and we had to stay ahead of it.  The ICD was situated under the muscle in a pocket they had created for it.  It would reside there until the battery wore out, most likely 5 or 6 years down the road.  He would be a teenager by then.  Because he would live now.  His chances of sudden death from this disease were now slim to none. 

Before that day, we could have lost him to it.  Every single time he fainted, he could have died.  I'd only known this fact for a week and I was having trouble processing it.  My child had walked close to heaven and nearly made it there after his last syncope. 

He was still and he was blue. 

Thank you God, for protecting him and sending him back when he was knocking at your gate.