Unmentionable Circumstances

I'm sitting here slouched over on the couch--my body melding in with the leather--trying to replay and make sense out of the very overwhelming day we have had. It all happened so fast and my mind is bogged down with displeasure, so the words just aren't flowing so easily. It is just a very draining feeling.

And, by now, I suppose you all are wondering what I am talking about? Well... Brandt has to have another surgery. Whoa--too much, too fast? I guess I should rewind and start at the beginning...

When Brandt was born, our pediatrician noted that Brandt's left testicle was not fully descended. While it was palpable, it was not where it needed to be. The pediatrician said that it was fairly common and should self-correct within the first few months. It was noted at nine months, and at Brandt's one-year-old well baby visit, the problem was still present. Yet, the pediatrician said he wanted to wait a little while longer. So we did, and the problem never went away. So, at nearly 18 months of age, Brandt was finally referred to a urologist. The pediatrician's office called to schedule the appointment, and they had us at the urologist a week later.

Meeting with the urologist all happened rather quickly. She came in, went over a brief family history, did some unmentionable poking and pulling, and went right into surgery details. It was crazy how quickly it all transpired.

I was fuming with anger because the urologist asked us why we had waited so long, if we were too busy doing other things--as if there were other things more important than my kid's health. And, of course, I was thinking it was all that damn pediatrician's fault, with his wait-and-see game. The game he so commonly likes to play with my kid. I had mentioned the problem to him several times, only to have my concerns quickly dismissed. The urologist said that if the problem was going to self-correct, it would have happened around two months of age, when the body experiences a surge in testosterone. She went on to say that most surgeries are performed before six months of age. And, there we were, at eighteen months of age. My cheeks were firey red, and it took everything in me to bite my tongue, when I really just wanted to call the pediatrician and give him a piece of my mind.

But, we pressed forward with the details of the surgery. She was speaking so fast, and my brain was still busy cursing the pediatrician, so I was only catching pieces of what she was saying. Will be scheduled in six weeks time. Outpatient. St. Mary's Children's Hospital. General anesthesia. Two incisions. Codeine. Three weeks recovery. Risk of serious complications... She was singing an all-too-familiar tune--one that was piercing my ears and breaking my heart.

And, for those of you who are now backtracking and counting six weeks time--yes, that is just in time for Christmas. Joy to the world...

But, as the urologist was spitting out her as-a-matter-of-fact procedure routines, I quickly jumped in with my familiar tune of questions and concerns--now being a seasoned pro of both anesthesia and surgery procedures. The urologist was very knowledgable and calming, and, yet, nothing could calm the internal angst I was feeling. At one point, I remember seeing Darrin look away with tear-filled eyes. It was a rare occurrence, which I have only seen him experience a handful of times in this whole process. And, at another point, I was holding my breath and biting my lip in an effort to hold back the emotions screaming inside of me that were wanting so desperately to escape.

But just as quickly as the appointment started, it was over.

And, so, at this point there is nothing else I can do but wait for them to call me with the surgery date. I sort of have to just roll with it. Another one of those "let go and let God" kind of situations.

Please continue your prayers for our precious little boy.