About a month ago, Holden underwent his second cranial vault remodeling. In the weeks leading up to the event, my anxiety skyrocketed. I worried things would be tougher this time around since my feisty 2.5 year-old would be more aware of his circumstances and able to vocalize his discomfort. Not to mention that Holden possesses a surprising amount of innate physical strength. I was sure this would lead to ripped out PICC lines and a solid kick to the face for some unlucky nurse.
As the week of Holden’s surgery progressed, all of my worries slowly slipped away. I remain in awe of Holden’s resilience, the surgeon’s abilities and the nursing staff’s care. I am beyond thankful to report that everything went so much better than I anticipated.
The Wednesday morning of Holden’s surgery we checked into Medical City Children’s in Dallas at 6 a.m. Holden was in a fantastic mood when we took him up to the pre-op room. He played with race cars while repeatedly shouting “Ready. Set. Go!” at the top of his lungs.
Eventually, Holden drank the “goofy juice” that is meant to calm a patient down before they are fully anesthetized. In the past, the “goofy juice” didn’t have much of an effect on Holden. As a result, when Sam and I would hand him over for sedation, he would be a furious, screaming mess. It was a horrible experience.
This time, though, Holden was loopy.
At 7:30 a.m. it was time to let our baby go. Two nurses arrived to take Holden back for surgery and cleverly thought to pretend Holden’s hospital bed was a racecar. “Do you like to go fast?” they asked him. “YES!” he squealed.
After Sam and I gave Holden emotional parting hugs, we joined in with the nurses as they chanted, “Ready…set…”
“GO!!!” Holden yelled as the nurses started wheeling him back for surgery.
As Sam and I waved him off, Holden sat there grinning at us from ear to ear until he disappeared behind the doors to the operating room. My heart ached as I watched Holden disappear behind those doors, but some of my anxiety was relieved. It was easier to see him whisked away happy than in a rage.
The actual surgical procedures performed on Holden that day were the identical to what he went through last year. Around noon, the doctors came out to the waiting area and reported to us that everything had gone extremely well in the operating room. Now it was time to reunite with our boy.
Holden mostly slept and binge-watched PJ Masks for the next 24 hours. He seemed to be pain free and the only things that upset him were his PICC line and the pulse oximeter.
Around 36 hours post-op, Holden and I were sleeping curled together awkwardly in his small hospital bed when I woke up to his distressed cries. He was unable to open his eyes. They had completely swollen shut due to the massive amount of inflammation in his head. I had been dreading this moment.
After his previous surgery, Holden’ eyes had remained swollen shut for two full days. He had been extremely agitated, but still so young that he was easy to distract and comfort. Now that he was a more conscious, verbal and mobile toddler, I was nervous he would be inconsolable for days.
Over the next four hours, Holden screamed and moaned incessantly. Finally, his craniofacial surgeon came by and gave us the green light to go home.
While we waited for Holden’s discharge paperwork, I decided to distract him from his temporary loss of vision by wheeling him around the hospital floor in a little red wagon. After a bit, we turned down a hallway and Holden suddenly shouted, “Look, Mama! Rubble!”
I turned around and he was pointing to a poster of one of his beloved Paw Patrol characters.
“Are you’re eyes open?!?!” I exclaimed. I bent down and saw him peering at me from tiny slits opening in the inside corners of his eyes. “You can see!” I shrieked with delight. My heart flooded with relief. What I had thought would be days of misery for Holden had lasted a mere four hours.
We arrived back in Austin around lunchtime on Friday - just over 48 hours after Holden had been wheeled back to surgery. That evening, I was lounging on the couch, when I heard Holden’s voice, “Ready. Set…”
I looked up from my phone and he was standing on the coffee table, eyes half open now, a mischievous smile spread across his face.
“Holden! Do not…” I started.
“GO!!!” Holden shouted as he jump off the table. Visions of his freshly stitched skull smacking against the floor flashed through my head.
Fortunately, Holden landed safely in my arms. As I squeezed him tight, I realized my vivacious boy was back, going about his crazy antics like nothing had happened. The final bit of my anxiety disappeared and we both started to laugh.