The Plastic Surgeon: Part 2

This is the second of a 2-part post. Part 1 was published Oct. 19.

“That settles that. There’s no chance in hell we’re doing conscious sedation,” I told my husband who was now holding our drowsy little boy.

He then looked at me baffled, like I’d said I was going to tapdance naked through the hospital. “Why? Why wouldn’t we?”

I often wonder how my husband and I can hear the exact same conversation or see the exact same thing and come away with a completely different version of what happened. “Oh, the nurse,” he said. “That’s just her opinion. It doesn’t sound that bad.”

Dr. George (not his real name) came back in and I explained that conscious sedation wasn’t for our son (or me). We decided on Benadryl and hoped for the best. Luckily, I come from a family of narcoleptics. We’ve fallen and stayed asleep at loud concerts, stoplights, bars, and even while holding a conversation. I hoped that my son was as sleepy as his mama.

He was. One shot and he was out. The doctor, nurse, and my husband each asked me if I wanted to leave the room. “It can be very hard for a mother to see a needle put into their child. We don’t want you to pass out.”
I squeezed that kid’s big head through a hole the size of a quarter, idiots. I think I can watch as he gets a couple of stitches, I thought to myself. “I think I’ll be fine.”

The giant needle going in and out of my son’s lip was disturbing to see, but it wasn’t nearly as bad as watching Curious “George” play plastic surgeon.

The first five stitches went in with no problem. Then suddenly, George’s hand started to shake a little. By the 10th stitch the needle barely made it to my baby’s mouth. His hand was all over the place and at the last second he plunged it into my son’s lip. He stopped, turned around, breathed heavily four or five times and continued. After 14 stitches, it was all over.

As my boy continued sleeping I asked the doctor about the flap of skin protruding from my boy’s lip. He said not to worry, the extra skin would fall off in a month.

Four years later, it’s still there.

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.