Dr. Galantowicz, or how I learned to stop worrying and be ok with surgery
UPDATE: As I thought, I did misspell Dr. Galantowicz's name. I've corrected this. Dr. Galantowicz is the chief of Cardiothoracic surgery and has been great. Don't let the reference to Dr. Strangelove in the post's title mislead you on that point.
Surgery will happen Monday. He'll have Dr. Galantowicz, who's name I've probably misspelled [originally misspelled Galanowicz], again. I have no idea what time, yet. I'm assuming in the morning. Dr. Galantowicz is pretty confident that it should be easier than last time since he's only doing one thing instead of three. He's planning on replacing the valve, rather than trying to repair it. The replacement will be either homographic tissue, which is to say something from an organ donor, or a mechanical valve. That's a decision to be made in the OR. Amy signed the consent forms this morning, and we're hopeful for a relatively quick and easy recovery, but quick recovery or slow, this is necessary and not something we can control, so we'll wait and watch and take care of him as much as we can.
We're getting through this. Amy seems to be doing better and accepting that the surgery has to happen a little better, and she's looking forward to the time when she can hold him. Watching her with him, in the ICU, the words of Khalil Gibran, the poet, are brought to life. "Your joy is your sorrow unmasked. And the selfsame well from which your laughter rises was oftentimes filled with your tears." Seeing this little guy in here, waving his arms around, wanting to get out of his little bed, brings the truth of those words home. And the joy on her face when she talks to him is worth the occasional moment of fear and worry on her face at home when she starts to get worried about how he'll do.
The fact that he has to go back in for more surgery isn't something that anyone is at fault over. The less that they can do to repair, the better. If they replace a valve, that's not something they can get a do over on if he doesn't need it, so they try to have as light a touch in there as they can. This is because his own valves grow with him. A replaced one will not. So replacing this valve means that Teddy will have to have at least one additional surgery beyond the revisions to the pulmonary conduit. He'll probably be back in here next year to have a new valve put in as he grows in the first year. After that, we'll see. But their goal is always to try to do as little as they need to, because that means that he will need less done in the future.
This isn't great. But it is. And that's where we are. We're going to take him home, eventually. He's going to be well and whole, eventually. We just have to wait. But, if you, like me, have trouble with the waiting, I can recommend some great poetry to help pass the time.
Surgery will happen Monday. He'll have Dr. Galantowicz, who's name I've probably misspelled [originally misspelled Galanowicz], again. I have no idea what time, yet. I'm assuming in the morning. Dr. Galantowicz is pretty confident that it should be easier than last time since he's only doing one thing instead of three. He's planning on replacing the valve, rather than trying to repair it. The replacement will be either homographic tissue, which is to say something from an organ donor, or a mechanical valve. That's a decision to be made in the OR. Amy signed the consent forms this morning, and we're hopeful for a relatively quick and easy recovery, but quick recovery or slow, this is necessary and not something we can control, so we'll wait and watch and take care of him as much as we can.
We're getting through this. Amy seems to be doing better and accepting that the surgery has to happen a little better, and she's looking forward to the time when she can hold him. Watching her with him, in the ICU, the words of Khalil Gibran, the poet, are brought to life. "Your joy is your sorrow unmasked. And the selfsame well from which your laughter rises was oftentimes filled with your tears." Seeing this little guy in here, waving his arms around, wanting to get out of his little bed, brings the truth of those words home. And the joy on her face when she talks to him is worth the occasional moment of fear and worry on her face at home when she starts to get worried about how he'll do.
The fact that he has to go back in for more surgery isn't something that anyone is at fault over. The less that they can do to repair, the better. If they replace a valve, that's not something they can get a do over on if he doesn't need it, so they try to have as light a touch in there as they can. This is because his own valves grow with him. A replaced one will not. So replacing this valve means that Teddy will have to have at least one additional surgery beyond the revisions to the pulmonary conduit. He'll probably be back in here next year to have a new valve put in as he grows in the first year. After that, we'll see. But their goal is always to try to do as little as they need to, because that means that he will need less done in the future.
This isn't great. But it is. And that's where we are. We're going to take him home, eventually. He's going to be well and whole, eventually. We just have to wait. But, if you, like me, have trouble with the waiting, I can recommend some great poetry to help pass the time.
Prayer is either helpful or inconsequential. We will never truly know, but I have never heard anyone say that prayer is harmful.
ReplyDeleteI choose to believe that prayer is helpful, and for that reason I am praying for Teddy, as well as for Aaron and Amy. Your current road is a little rough, but God is with you and He will never abandon you.