Day 6?

Forgive me if I have somewhat lost track of the days. In looking back at what I wrote, today is day 6. Orit say's 5. Eleven years of marriage will do that to you (though I must tell all we're going through a really good period of parallel growth, so don't worry about us!) The operation was Tuesday morning - I started counting then. Today is Sunday. You do the math. With that established, today went as such;
Actually before I get into today, I want to add that we had a fun visit last evening post Randy’s Donut Therapy from our friends and neighbors, Sam and Lucy, who are always welcome to barge in unannounced. It’s what we love about their mom and welcome all of them over and over again. The three buddies had fun collaborating seamlessly to create a funky bird. They’re a funny and uniquely individual threesome that complements itself well and it was nice to see them together doing their thing, all being into the same thing.

Also I wanted to add, that I have received quite a few responses from some of you interested in the Randy's Donut Therapy technique and it's philosphy. I will put some brain power into that possible new age treatment and it's marketability soon enough.
This morning, little man woke up quite late for him. But I must believe that he's sleeping deeper, better and longer because he breathes better. We don't hear him. It's crazy quiet. I've been so used to my loud little man. The change was immediate. So he sleeps well and long. But, he woke up with an earache. And that too is one of the like clockwork moments expected from the benefit of having a long history of this procedure and much experience. Expect an earache on Day 6 was in the manual. Unlike our oral/medicine issues, the ear is fair game and little man is pretty disciplined at taking drops or olive oil or any other Orit concoction, so long as it's not in the mouth or nose. And no, don't say suppositories (Miriam). So we had him comfortable quickly laying on his side, watching tv, letting the drops soothe. By the way, there will be much damage control on the tv and sugar/nutrition front when this is all said and done. The manual says that's on day 10. I'm still holding out for an earlier success story. But, I'll take success story at it's own schedule nonetheless.
I'm in a revived interest of moving my body recently. Trying to find ways of constantly rotating types of physical activity so as to not get bored. And catch up and join Orit, whose been kickboxing for a while now and getting strong. I need to get it together before she can actually kick my ass. She's got the emotional hold, so it's only fair I hold on to the physical ability of not getting my ass kicked by my wife. Not that I would ever use it... But at least while we wrestle... Anyway. I had arranged it already last night to get up unusually early for me on a Sunday, to play tennis with David. He came over to see little man before hitting the courts. It's been a while since I've played. David and I used to play in NY and I used to be real good. Played very seriously when I was young until I abandoned it when I was 17. Still am good, just takes me a bit to get my rhythm back after a long hiatus and most noticeably the stamina is no longer what it used to be. I'll stay away from the age cliches as I feel myself as young (until the knees start to say otherwise). As I was leaving and trying to get Theo's attention pried away from the zombie state of tv and recovery, I leaned down to his level (as his head is sideways because of the ear drops) and said I'm going to play tennis. He rolled his eyes to me and said "are you good?" I said, Yes. And the eyes rolled back to Tom & Jerry. And I left. My mother in law and wife like to make fun of my attire and my fashion before leaving for my workout. Actually it's just my mother in law. Orit just joins in for fun, but secretly loves it. Theo is so used to my shit, it doesn't even phase him. And so I push my mother in law's buttons back. I'm proud of the black socks, black sneakers and cut off old sweats look I have. And I raise my socks higher in open defiance. I’m not going to the WASPy country club and I don’t own any white tennis attire. With my newly shaved look (my annual or bi-annual ritual of cleansing the head and the face, besides the added benefit of Orit feels like she’s having an affair...). I am who I am and mother in law, Miriam (up till now referred to as Safta - grandma in Hebrew) is as well. And we like to spar. And we're both good at it. So it works. And people around it get a kick out of it. And Theo, absolutely adores her. And she, there are no words to how much she lives through him and for him when with him.
Came back from tennis feeling good, but the muscles where secretly already conspiring to constrict and knot later. Edie and Charlie came over to hang out with Theo. The boys got some good peaceful play time. Little man was worn out after though and laid down to watch Ponyo, which was so graciously brought by our guests.The day has its ups and down moments with the emotional realms when you have a hard time communicating still. And your neck is stiff from holding it a certain way to avoid pain in the throat. So those moments still happen at times and as randomly as what may trigger them. But, we talk through them. Or sometime shut up through them. And move on. We went to Balboa Park to feed the ducks, ride the scooter on the path and get some fresh air. Funnily enough, we were feeding them right in front of the sign that mentioned why you should not feed the wildlife. Obviously, we did not see the sign before or this time, until we turned around to leave. But the ducks ate. And then scrambled away like running backs trying to hold on to the bread in the coming onslaught of bread thirsty ducks. And we enjoyed the moment. And he rode his scooter a bit and got sidetracked with a small meltdown and this little man is tired and weak. And normal. And extraordinary. So we went home. And we no longer have any kind of bed time routine. We never even know which bed. This week has dictated it’s own schedule. Baths or showers or bed time or pajamas are not much on the lexicon in regard to a certain hour anymore. In turn, things such as what is going on at the moment occur: I’m in the office, writing. Orit is walking into the room, disorientated, making a face and adjusting her eyes to the light since falling asleep with Theo on our bed 2 hours ago. Both in clothing, interwoven, creating some kind of chinese character shape. Is he out for the rest of the night? Probably. At least it’s quietly. And tomorrow will be good.

Theo Progress Report 08/08/10

Randy's

So we didn't go to the party. Theo and I stayed behind and let the ladies go. So I read Theo all that I've written thus far. He got into it, listening attentively, and actually remembering to come back after a pee break! The story triggered a few memories from the hospital which we discussed. And reminisced about the happy juice. I was reading the portion when I previously asked him if it was all worth it. He quickly interjected with the still current answer of NO. And that told me it was time to get out of the house. The sun was calling and the cool afternoon breeze asked us to join it (one of the benefits of Southern California living). So we grabbed our card game and took a walk to Starbucks for a coffee and a chocolate milk - one of our neighborhood doings. Here, Theo smiled. Here, he did his winning dance and did some air karate punches. When I won, he slyly pretended he did instead. He was finally in a place to get lost in the moment. He still can't raise his head up and looks up only with his eyes. He still can't open or stretch his mouth bigger than what it takes to do a medium sized smile. But, it was good to get outside. Good to walk and joke and get competitive over some friendly games of TAKI, if only for the sake of it's what we do when all is normal. And in moments such as this, normal is special. 
On the way back home, after still not eating a real nutritious meal since the surgery, only bits here and there, he said to me he wished he could go to Randy's Donuts. Now, those of you familiar with LA know what and where Randy's is. And those of you familiar with the Progress Reports have recently seen an installment photographed there. Those of you who have seen the movie Ironman II (and numerous other movies) are familiar with the scene Ironman sits inside the big donut. Well, we saw this movie a few months back and afterwards I mentioned that the big donut from is near the airport and one day I would take him. That one day became that moment, and a memory was established  to look forward to again in the future. One of those dad and son things. So something triggered that memory on our walk back from Starbucks and of course inside my head, I'm already planning the trip. But, I do the adult, responsible thing and say that when we get home, if he eats a decent enough dinner, we'll go. The promise was exchanged. He did and off we went. And now we're back and in Theo's words, "it was sooo worth it!" (still in a cute froggy voice). We both went with the classic chocolate glazed and it just melted in our mouths as soon as it entered. This is certainly not the best donut in the world. Some purists out there have their place of choice. But, for us two (and mom and safta who got a to go order), this was the best donut at the best time ever! We stuck around for Theo to indulge me with a few polaroids (keep your eyes open for next Progress Report). An iphone photo (see below) and back home. Quiet drive back listening to Bill Withers until I lower the volume to hear Theo say, "we're satisfied." When we got home and shared our to go bags with Orit and Safta, Theo wanted another bite. One big bite, where his mouth opened wider than it's been in 5 days. And then a smile came along with the realization that he's one step closer to full recovery. I call that Randy's therapy.

Day 5

We're in day 5. Behind me, Theo sits at Orit's work table stringing beads into a bracelet for Luka, who just turned 3 (we're going to her party for a short time this afternoon). Orit is standing over him providing the fine material from her arsenal and showing him technique and strategy... A picture of normalcy on the surface. Still far from it as the poor little man is still far from normal. But with every day he regains a little strength and the smiles, though still reserved for those very special moments where they're worth the pain, are being seen more often. Day 3 passed smoothly with much less tears. Only the occasional ones and those mostly from frustration and food or lack thereof. At least not pain - that is one comfort. The communication is still by notes and nods and thumbs up/down. The occasional froggy voice  comes out on occasion. The calling or beckoning by the quick double clap is still funny and cute and brings us all to attention (though this will get old soon!). I had to rush to a last minute trip up to San Francisco in the evening to work in Santa Rosa the following morning (Friday). Considering all of us and Safta have been bound at home and going stir crazy, I felt ok about going on a quick overnight adventure. The Borowsky women have super nurturing powers, he's in good hands. Obviously I was updated along the way with his status by every possible form of mobile communication, including talking. Not to him though, as he was not so ready for the phone. I came back the following evening to find the Borowsky women sitting in the living room reading. The dogs sprawled out on their pillows and Theo is next door at Connor's house. Now that's a good sign. He came back a bit later. He was still quiet. Still still. Slow. Weak. He hasn't really eaten in a few days. Here and there some pampering goodies. But no nourishment. Nothing that normally fuels an active 6 year old boy. They sat around at Connor's house watching tv. Not quite different than at home, but at least he wants to switch up the scene and be with other people. Another good sign. All things on schedule. I was hoping that my little man would bounce back quicker than schedule, ahead of the curve. Like so many other attributes in him. But not in healing. Average. As described. It's still a good thing. Its still healing and I'll take it with patience. And gratitude.
When we met the doctor for the consult, one of the things he said was that several days after the surgery, Theo's breath is going to smell quite badly. Don't be alarmed. Just the healing of the skin... Well, just on schedule and as described, though it's really hard to describe, the breath is indeed - putrid. Having two dogs, and particularly one gassy one, we used to step into a room and stop for a moment knowing China is in there. The tables have turned and smelly one is our son. But like a good fart, which everyone is disgusted with (but also attracted to) he's like a magnet that's hard to walk away from. 

Which brings us to the stinky present of this Saturday morning of Day 5. Theo has eaten crepes with a renewed interest for breakfast. The bracelet is done. Were back in our bed in a comfortable silence. I'm facing and typing on my iPhone. Theo is facing SpongeBob and fondling his ***** under the covers. A boy is a boy, surgery or not.

Surgery - cont...

Day 2, we were warned would be the most difficult day (besides that horrible moment earlier described of coming back into post-op consciousness). One that would involve pain management and helplessness. I suppose having 50 years of history behind these procedures gives us the luxury of having a schedule of expectations. And again here, even knowing does not provide comfort or preparedness when it comes to the particular moment. The thing is that we're not all the same. And some of us will just about do or go through anything to avoid something else. That is the case of Theo, liquid medication and pain. You'd think that after 6.5 years and numerous occasions of having to deal with any form of medication for him, let alone liquid, we'd know better than to actually go to a pharmacy, spend the time and money for the prescription, and attempt the futile act of getting it to go into his body. It's a combination of smell, taste and psychosomatic anxiety that won't let this act happen. Trying to understand it in the moment, is as useless as trying to explain it. And on this day, it was no different. There is not much worse than seeing your child suffer and not be able to do anything about it. We hear that in one story or another from every parent. Alas, I believe it to be true. When it's a suffering that can be prevented or managed it's all the more frustrating as the common sense wielding adult. Talking, swallowing, crying all hurt.  The drama surrounding the medicine amplifies the emotions and activate the involuntary muscles that trigger more hurt. Nevertheless, time has to go by and as slow as it may seem, it did come to an end. No food. Not even the much talked about and anticipated ice cream. No yogurt, popcicle, slurpee, juice, ice chips, jello or anything else we had ready. Barely even water, but there, we had to put our foot down and force the minimum small sips to avoid dehydration. No talking - instead, Theo discovered the best way to communicate is by clapping twice to call for attention (I swore I would not buy him a bell as Safta suggested) and writing the rest down with a pad and pen. That in itself is quite amazing to go through with a six year old's writing skills. That's how we got through day 2, slowly into the night. Knowing that in the morning, day 3 would bring the beginning of the other side. On a back note,  during the moments of actual sleep on day 1 and 2 (both during day and night) the quality of breathing was such that we've not heard in Theo before. His blocked airway and lack of clear breathing during sleep is the reason we had the procedure done in the first place. So even though he may not see the end  of the tunnel, we are very much there already. I slept with Theo on the sofa bed this night. Orit and her mom, both in separate rooms needed some quiet and replenishing of their nurturing strength. But on this night there was no waking up in pain and tears. Most surprising was the deep sleep I managed to get into. No more old man snoring was coming out of the little guy. Before falling asleep I had to get real close to him and listen for breathing next to his mouth. A few days ago we could hear it from down the hall. Now I'm inches away struggling to figure out if he's breathing. Amazing.  And day 3 arrived gloriously! Discomfort is a godsend compared to pain. Even a 6 year old can appreciate that. Food and drink have come back into our routine. His voice is still like a little groggy frog and so the pad and pen are still the tool of choice. It's a path that has strengthened his need to advance his reading/writing skills as it is not just a subject of school anymore. In some instances it's the only form of communication. Quite a lesson and just one of a few gained from this whole experience. Going into this thing, Theo was excited and brave. Immediately after leaving the hospital he said he said it was worth it as an experience cause he knew it would be for the better. Today I asked him again how he feels - if knowing what he knows now, was it worth it? No, he said. The memory of pain and discomfort is still all too fresh. And I can't blame him. But I suspect we shall be moving further forward into recovery tomorrow and normalcy will be around the following corner. And then the nights will once again be quiet in the Harpaz home. The breathing will be deep, clear and healthy. And all the benefits a proper sleep will give Theo the bouncing board for growing into the potential that's within him physically, mentally and emotionally. I look forward to walking along every step of the way, teaching, learning and being.

About the operation...

We woke up this morning 6:30 and without food and water got Theo to the hospital at 7:30. After about an hour and a half of waiting around, filling out paperwork, and paying a portion of the bill, we were finally taken to a room where Theo was given the much talked about "happy juice" that we've known for about a week would make him loopy and droopy and funny... As Dr. ***** said at our pre-op consultation last week, there indeed is nothing funnier than a child on drugs... Theo has been looking forward for the "happy juice" and mask that follows, to experience the feeling of being put to sleep without being able to control it. It's been a topic of several serious (and funny) discussions over the past days. He's shown a very keen interest in the whole process and questions everything along the way. Last night we watched an animated medical video online, showing the experience from pre-op preparation, through the actual procedures of both tonsillectomy and adenoidectomy, and through the expectations of recovery. We have all gone into this with as much knowledge as we could absorb and were ready. But even knowing, you're still never really ready. And when he took that "happy juice," boy was that funny! I videotaped him in that state. Possibly a shorter, edited version will make an appearance soon. Wait to see. But I assure you, we were having so much fun with him in those few moments, I just can't really put it into words. We've never seen him anywhere near like this. It was so foreign and so real in the package you think you know inside out and every which way - it just floored us. We saw him get loopier and droopier while maintaining such a big smile on his face that it made the send off, to some stranger arms that took him into the operating room, somewhat bearable. I guess it kind of took the edge off our nerves as well and we didn't drink any juice. Anyway, a short trip to the cafeteria and a little wait and it was done. Not quite sure how long the actual operation was, but it could not have been more than 45mins. We went in and there he was asleep and connected to a monitor and fluids. He looked so calm and sweet and vulnerable connected like that. It was a few minutes that we stood over, watching him and talking to him, as he drifted between worlds of consciousness. Then he woke up. And reality hit and hit hard. Pain and consciousness met and the shit hit the fan. He was screaming and trying to violently pull out anything connected to him. And this kid is strong! The nurse had to tape his free hand, while we grabbed him, so he couldn't pull out the iv in the other. Then, still while both Orit and I held him down with all our force, he was given morphine to cope with the pain. And in a few minutes, it was done. And we could breath again. And we knew the worst was that moment, and that moment was now behind us. And as I write a few hours later, I can confirm that indeed that was the worst of it. He slept for a bit until they moved us to the recovery room and there he started to come in out and becoming himself again. We stayed there for about two hours or so. Theo started speaking like a little groggy froggy and we talked and laughed as we watched his loopy video and answered all his inquisitive questions. When he was ready to try walking we gave it a shot and came back to bed cause of a little nausea. He laid down a little more and gave it a second shot going to the car in daddy's arms. Made it into the elevator when, he got really nauseous and vomited all over the floor, and daddy's shoulder. So we headed back to the bed for another period of laying down. And a short period after that we made it down to the car and smooth sailing ever since. Theo is home, in our bed, feeling good, watching tv, eating jello and drinking water. Orit is asleep next to him. Safta is asleep in Theo's room and I'm going to make some cream of wheat for the little man who apparently has an appetite, so he must be feeling good. No doses of pain medication thus far either, so that's another sign. They say on day two the pain is more severe and then lessens over the next three days. Knowing this guy, it will be faster and he'll be bouncing off the walls in no time! (That was a few hours ago...)
And then the hunger was lost to the returning pain and the emotions rose and currently we're riding the calm side of the second wave...

Theo Progress Report 08/01/10 (Ooops...)

(...should have been sent out before the last one. Rearrange the time-line in your minds. This one has a happier tone.)