diaphragm plication

The surgeons weren't optimistic.  They didn't think that she would be cured by a surgery that would tack her diaphragm down on the right side and  make more room for the lung.  The doctor told me that if it didn't help, Bekah would have to have a tracheostomy.  I hated the idea.  Jeffrey hated it even more.  'No way I'm going to let them mutilated my daughter if they aren't going to at least try to fix the diaphragm!'

No one is born with a trach.  It was bad enough that she needed surgery to begin with.  I was the kind of mom who uses cloth diapers and coconut oil hoping to let the child wean from the breast when ready even if that meant they were old enough to use full sentences to request nursing.  A trach meant such a departure from my aspirations for what childhood would be like for Bekah.  It's an artificial airway made by creating a whole in the throat through which a tube is inserted.  It's like a very severe body piercing but with a purpose.  It meant careful ongoing care.

I found myself nearly begging for the diaphragm plication.  I even sought an advocate at the hospital to ensure it.  Reading up on the surgery, I learned that most children with paralyzed diaphragms are weaned from the ventilator after three days.  I was holding out hope that this would cure her and we could take her home in tact.

It was a long surgery.  It took more than three hours.  I was told that a small camera was inserted into her chest cavity, her lung was deflated, a second "tube" was inserted to do the procedure.  She would have a few small scars if everything went well.  The process was like laproscopy.  But LAProscopy applies to the abdomen.  She was having a THORAscopy.  It was in her thorax.

I walked with her to the operating room and kissed her goodnight as she was taken behind the double doors.  My oldest child had had surgery when he was less than three months old.  I knew the process and wasn't too concerned.  I just held my breath that this would be curative for her.

Jeffrey and I enjoyed some sunshine while we waited.  It was too disturbing to be in the hospital room with out her.  I finished the season finally of "Breaking Bad" and, as the credits rolled, a surgeon appeared at the door.

Not far behind him was Bekah in her crib, still asleep from the anesthesia.  She had a tube in her chest that drained fluid.  That was pretty gross, watching the reservoir fill up with reddish fluid, then brown, then clear.

She was still intubated.  I knew her next trial would be soon.