Flint's Inguinal Herniorrhaphy: A Tale of Two Hernias

It would seem that our Flint has more than one tale to tell. About a week after Flint's 15 month checkup with Dr. Dickey, we found ourselves back in her office for another visit, this time to investigate what Luke and I had already diagnosed, via the internets: an inguinal hernia. At first, dear Dr. Dickey discovered a "reactive lymph node," then proceeded to tell me, complete with sketches on the exam room bed liner, about the lymphatic system. She was very emphatic about the lymphatic. And for that reason, I let her talk. However, being 100% positive that she was mistaken, I didn't listen to a dern thing she was saying. Mostly, I waited to talk, and planned on how I was going to tactfully redirect my pediatrician. About five minutes later (which seemed more like an anxiety-filled hour), I simply asked, while struggling to lift a wriggly escape artist back onto my lap, "Uh... so would it bulge when he strained?" To which she replied while peeling back his diaper again, "Bulge? No... let's take another look and see if you can show me what you're--- OH! Yeah. No. That's a hernia." We got a referral for a surgeon, many words of confidence in his skills, and a small spiel on femoral hernias.

We met with Dr. Hermann about a week later. He could tell Flint had not only one, but two hernias, and renamed them "inguinal" thankyouverymuch. And this diagnosis just by looking at him (then prodding at him to make sure). He was very patient, took his time and tried to form a relationship  (however superficial) with us. His competence and confidence was very obvious, as he had performed over 25,000 of these repairs. He kept talking about how cool Flint was, and how smart and "what a neat kid!" And he was right. Flint is super cool. We had all our questions answered and soon afterward, set up an appointment for ... *gulp* surgery!

We had done the "day surgery" thing all before with Lyla and her ear tubes, so we kind of knew what to expect. I convinced myself that it would be easier the second time around, then I convinced myself that it would be far scarier since it was more invasive and would leave scars, then I thought of my parents and my brother and all they went through with his life-saving, life-threatening, horrifically traumatic surgeries and gained a little more perspective. Hernia repair should be a cake walk.

Monday, February 13th, we arrived at Cook's Pediatric Surgery Center with a hungry and thirsty Captain Awesome.

Attacking the magazine table in the waiting area.

Daddy attempting to keep the boy distracted with a game we call "Moo! Moo! WHOA!"

His happy spirit and the wonderful, experienced staff at the facility really did make this stressful morning almost a piece of cake. He got his "giggle juice" shortly after we arrived and were told we'd be able to begin a little early. I was confused by a few things just based on my experiences with Lyla's surgery. They didn't dress him in a gown or do excessive vitals or tests beforehand, and they didn't wheel him away on a gurney, but just carried him away, talking to him and keeping him happy (with the help of the sedative, of course). Luke and I were escorted to a private waiting room, which was nice... being all private... but a little smallish and uncomfortable. Fortunately, our wait wasn't long and we knew exactly the time frame to expect, who to expect to see first, and what would happen next, and most importantly, WHEN WE'D GET TO SEE FLINT!

Luke waiting = Skyrim

Emily waiting = iPhotos

After the doc came in and relieved any small concern we had that things wouldn't go perfectly, the wait got harder. At that moment, we knew it was just a matter of getting him into Recovery and the nurse showing up to grab us. In the meantime, there were plenty of other small kids coming-to and panicking, confused about where they were and why they felt weird and where their parents were. Or at least that's how I interpreted their little cries from inside our private room. I just dreaded thinking about Flint waking in a state of scared confusion and pain like that - without me immediately there to swoop him up. Moments later, a nurse opened up our door. She had Flinty on his wheely-bed and it was just as she was reaching for the door that he started to wake up and try to crawl off. He was upset and confused, but fortunately, we were right there. She quickly transferred him to my lap on the rocking chair for Mama comforting, and after a few minutes of hoarse, pitiful cries, he zonked out.

Flint's pulse-ox E.T. toe. Also pictured, toenails needing trimmed.

The nurse went over all the drugs that were in his system, how he was intubated (thus the hoarse voice), and the "block" he had in his groin that would affect him for the rest of the day (no walking on his own!). She removed his IV and he barely stirred. As pathetic as he was, it was kind of a rare treat to hold my sleeping baby. I haven't been able to do that in a long, long time! And he just... slept. 

 And slept...

 And slept...

 

And slept...

And slept...

After his recovery hour was up, the nurse said we could stay or go, depending on what we were comfortable with. They normally like to get some fluids in the patients, but the anesthesiologist didn't feel the need to push fluids on him and figured it best for him to rest if he needed it. She warned that he might vomit from the anesthesia. Just as we decided we were ready to go and Luke left to pull the car around, Flint's head jerked upright, his big brown eyes just huge, and asked with his regular playful half-smile, "Dada?" He sucked down a sippy cup of juice and we buckled him in and drove off. I thought better of sitting up front, but somehow convinced myself that it would be better if things seemed more normal for him. Had I stuck with my gut, Flint may not have soaked EVERYthing in the backseat with the vomited juice, not 5 minutes into our drive. I MAY have caught some of it in the barf-bag the nurse so lovingly made sure I took.

Flint and his sippy cup, super dopey.

After that, it was smooth sailing back home, then a day of dozing in and out, prescription pain meds, and lots of fluids. Flint was a little more "Flint" with each passing hour, and by the end of the evening, was somewhat difficult to discourage from his normal nighttime behaviors, including running all over the house, climbing on furniture, throwing balls. You know, basic toddler stuff. The next day was even harder, and by Wednesday he was actually permitted to resume his normal routine. Much to everyone's relief.

(The day after surgery, a little doped up on painkillers...)

The incisions were glued closed, not sutured. I'll probably be hated years from now for sharing this...

It has been a week, today, and Flint seems almost 100%. He's been a pretty fussy guy, lately, but he's also got the never-ending head cold the whole Q-Clan has, and is cutting teeth, so there's no telling what's truly ailin' him. We know one thing for sure, though, he is our all-time favorite goober boy. And we love him. Here's hoping this is the most serious medical issue he'll ever have. We're so grateful, too, for all the love and well-wishes he has received throughout this.

And thus, the two inguinal hernias ended.