We got through it.
I knew all along that it was silly for me to worry. That it was a simple procedure, one the doctor did several times a week.
But I was worried.
He wasn't. As I said in the last post, Oliver's main concern was that he wouldn't be able to eat anything in the morning before his surgery.
He was a little nervous, and admitted so a couple of times, but he was more excited than worried. People had told him wonderful tales of jelly and ice cream and sitting around being waited on.
Because he was the oldest kid in the room, he had to wait until last to have his surgery. For two hours he sat in the pediatrics day ward singing, chatting and watching half a movie. He was very hyped and jolly.
Scrubs), and he said it was the nicest thing he'd heard all day....no, all week! He challenged Oliver to a competition: Oliver had to count all the way to 10, but he said he wouldn't make it. Oliver said 'yes I will!'
I went in to the theatre with him. Definitely one of my more harrowing moments. Watching his body twitch as it went to sleep was truly scary. He just didn't look...right. (By the way, he made it to 7, but they cheated a little - they'd already started the gas when he started counting!)
I had a little cry after I left there. It was just all a little too real. Then spent a fairly anxious hour waiting for him to come out.
When he did, he was miserable. Drowsy, and in lots of pain. The local on his wound obviously hadn't worked. Poor guy. Another teary moment.
And he got his jelly (and ice cream), and video games in bed, and generally an adventure any 7 year old boy would be happy with (minus the pain!).