Surgery

We are home from hospital. In a seven hour surgery yesterday, our fantastic surgeon implanted Henry with bilateral cochlear implants. The surgery was a success and Henry is recovering well. Already the past 48 hours have crystallised into a montage of discrete memories.

• Henry in just a nappy, playing on my bedroom floor before bed the night before as I captured his profile on camera, lest the implants changed the shape of his head forever. Henry; happy, laughing and playing with his soccer ball, oblivious to what the next day would bring. Me; watching in wonder at this beautiful little baby who was my son, feeling so thankful to God for this amazing gift and hoping that I was doing the best for him.
• A sleepless night, waking at Henry’s every cough, worried that he had caught his sister’s cold and that he wouldn’t be well enough for surgery. Ending up in Imogen’s bed with her to comfort her as she was feeling so miserable with her cold. Hardly the restful night that I had hoped for before such a big day.
• Waving goodbye to Grandma Karen in the morning. Seeing the tears she was holding back as she assured us that everything would be fine.
• Walking into the hospital with a happy, smiley baby boy. Overwhelmed again by the huge responsibility that parenthood brings and hoping we were doing the right thing.

Will and Henry arriving at the hospital

• As we sat in the waiting room, the surgeon stopping by to say hello to Henry. Her confidence and enthusiasm was something that I reflected back on all day and made me feel immensely at ease.
• Standing in hospital scrubs, holding Henry as he was put to sleep for the surgery. Turning around for one more kiss as they led me out of the room. And going back for another...!
• Sitting in the sun at the coffee shop with William, watching my watch and trying to guess what the surgeon would be doing now.
• Getting a phone call four hours in, letting us know that they had finished one side and it had been a success. Oh, the relief. I was so happy at that moment.
• And then getting the call that the surgery was over and we could come and see our little baby. As we walked in, William reminded me, don’t forget he is going to be all bandaged up. I was prepared for that. But I wasn’t prepared for how fragile and vulnerable he would look. He cried when he saw me, as if to say, this is not a fun place mummy, why did you bring me here? I wanted to give him a huge hug, but he was awkward and miserable. I tried to breastfeed him but he had to be really coaxed into it, and I held him gingerly, trying not to put pressure on his head.
• The long night. Blood on my jumper and all over Henry as his wounds bled. Thankfully ‘to be expected’, but still unsettling.



Henry after surgery

• Will turning up at 6am the next morning, armed with coffees and Karen’s banana bread and ready to take over holding Henry. Henry was still so miserable, he threw up, he could barely keep his eyes open he was so lethargic and we really wondered if we would be going home that day. Then suddenly at around 9am he transformed. I fed him weetbix and he got all his energy back and started smiling again and kicking around and was back to being our little Henry.
• The unveiling. Both Will and I expected you would see the implants in his head profile more, but you can hardly notice, only if you are really looking.

Having the bandages removed before we left to go home



• And then something beautiful- Taking Henry home, still fragile and vulnerable and in pain – and then that moment when he saw his sister Imogen. His whole face lit up and she knew intuitively what he needed – she danced and sang ‘shake your bom-bom’ as she shaked her hips and he laughed and laughed. Less than 48 hours later and we were almost back to normal. And yet so much has changed!

  Postscript: The next two weeks are for Henry to recover, then he will be ‘switched on’ on 4th Feb.