Yamaarashi-chan's surgery.
Mar. 12th, 2004 08:55 amWell, I awoke at 5:30 this morning to wash and cleaning and zhuzh myself before hurtling up to Children's Hospital. I arrived at 7:00 and turned over the paperwork, which they accepted. Yamaarashi-chan's mother had already arrived (I parked in the same lot and spotted her van). Yamaarashi-chan was obviously not ready to be awake so early; she curled up in her mother's lap and slept while we waited to be called.
They took us into "induction," where one nurse did preliminaries, then an admittance anaesthesiologist examined her, then another nurse brought her "raspberry flavored" knock-out stuff, which Yamaarashi-chan insisted tasted horrible. We watched a video called "Your Child's Day In Surgery." Yet another nurse led us to the prep room, where her mobile bed with all the gear awaited her. By the time we had her lying down, she was completely zoned, eyes dialated and unfocused.
The assistant anaesthesiologist came in and rigged up all the monitoring equipment for heart rate and blood pressure and so on. She had a beautiful voice with an oh-so-trained English accent; the fact that she was young and Chinese made it a startling combination. The principle anaesthesiolgist himself was a big guy, clear-eyed and ready. Yamaarashi-chan fell asleep instantly, and we left her in their care. I went to the cafeteria to get myself some coffee, and bought Coke instead, read a little, headed back. I relied on the timer in my Palm to tell me when.
They led us back to recovery room 5, where after a bit of a wait the surgeon himself came back. He's another big guy, somewhat exciteable and exuding confidence. He said everything went completely routine and without complication. Then Yamaarashi-chan came in, completely out of it. She sat in my lap for almost an hour before the nurse said we "had" to wake her up. So we did.
Poor little girl. She cried when we woke her up. She did not want to be here. The drugs were calling her back to sleep. She asked if her tears were bloody, and I agreed that they were. She asked for a popsicle, and one was fetched for her. Eventually, we got her into her clothes. They smelled of mildew.
I wheeled her out to her mother's van, and watched them drive off.
Obviously, typing "Elfs" in is going to raise a ton of images of naked chicks with pointy ears, weird-colored hair, and heaving bosoms barely restrained by silk or chainmail. But then I found this. Ronnie James Dio, who once fronted for Black Sabbath, was in a band called Elf-- one member of whom went on to work with Deep Purple.
Wacky.
They took us into "induction," where one nurse did preliminaries, then an admittance anaesthesiologist examined her, then another nurse brought her "raspberry flavored" knock-out stuff, which Yamaarashi-chan insisted tasted horrible. We watched a video called "Your Child's Day In Surgery." Yet another nurse led us to the prep room, where her mobile bed with all the gear awaited her. By the time we had her lying down, she was completely zoned, eyes dialated and unfocused.
The assistant anaesthesiologist came in and rigged up all the monitoring equipment for heart rate and blood pressure and so on. She had a beautiful voice with an oh-so-trained English accent; the fact that she was young and Chinese made it a startling combination. The principle anaesthesiolgist himself was a big guy, clear-eyed and ready. Yamaarashi-chan fell asleep instantly, and we left her in their care. I went to the cafeteria to get myself some coffee, and bought Coke instead, read a little, headed back. I relied on the timer in my Palm to tell me when.
They led us back to recovery room 5, where after a bit of a wait the surgeon himself came back. He's another big guy, somewhat exciteable and exuding confidence. He said everything went completely routine and without complication. Then Yamaarashi-chan came in, completely out of it. She sat in my lap for almost an hour before the nurse said we "had" to wake her up. So we did.
Poor little girl. She cried when we woke her up. She did not want to be here. The drugs were calling her back to sleep. She asked if her tears were bloody, and I agreed that they were. She asked for a popsicle, and one was fetched for her. Eventually, we got her into her clothes. They smelled of mildew.
I wheeled her out to her mother's van, and watched them drive off.
Obviously, typing "Elfs" in is going to raise a ton of images of naked chicks with pointy ears, weird-colored hair, and heaving bosoms barely restrained by silk or chainmail. But then I found this. Ronnie James Dio, who once fronted for Black Sabbath, was in a band called Elf-- one member of whom went on to work with Deep Purple.
Wacky.
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