Thoracotomy

If you know how this story ends, then you know that remission was not to last. We must have gone for an outpatient check-up and were told that the disease was back. Not necessarily observable with swollen lymph nodes or something funky with his eye, but by elevated white blood cell counts.

We would now have to go back into the hospital to have a broviac reinserted prior to a bone marrow transplant. I remember that there was a lot of discussion among the medical staff about whether or not this was the prudent approach or whether hospice was a better option. They didn't discuss this with us, we just heard about it. We were confident because he looked and seemed so healthy compared with how he had looked in previous months and I think a lot of the doctors and nurses liked us and loved Spencer and wanted to give him every chance possible. This highlights the need to balance quality of life vs. fighting to the bitter end despite questionable outcomes. Looking back, I don't know if I would do it again, but you don't know how much you don't know and you don't want to make those life and death decisions. Especially with your baby.

We went back into the hospital and scheduled the operation to have the broviac inserted. We met the Surgeon, a tiny woman who looked like somebodies grandmother. She actually had to stand on a footstool to operate. We were assured that she was one of the best in the business despite her diminutive stature. The surgical suites were on the fourth floor, above the hospital entry. The east and west wings were pre and post operative suites, waiting rooms, etc. We couldn't wait in the official waiting room though. We sat on the benches, overlooking the atrium and right outside the doors that lead to the surgical suites.

There is nothing more anxiety producing than sending your child off to the surgical suites. I assume it is the equivalent to sending a child off to war. It doesn't matter if it is a minor surgery like putting tubes in their ears or something major like brain surgery, eventually you have to stop at that door and send them into harm's way with strangers.

It seemed to take forever. We had done this before, but this time it took what seemed like a long time. We were surpised when a doctor came out to talk to us. They took us into a consult room. In the past they would just come out and say he did great and he was recovering nicely. Turns out they accidentally nicked an artery while inserting the catheter. Spencer almost died on the operating table. They didn't just transfuse blood, they literally had to "push" blood through him as they made the repair. In order to do that they had to do a thoracotomy

(viewer discretion advised: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EVVltPdABCc)

or "crack his chest". For those who cannot look at such things (myself included), they make an incision in the side of the chest, under the arm, from nipple to shoulder blade. A rib spreader is used to access the heart, find the damage and make the repair. This was devistating to us. When we saw him in the recovery room, he was heavily sedated, on oxygen, and had a drain coming out of his chest. It was heartbreaking to see what this tender soul was being subjected to.