On Tuesday, May 17th, Frankie went into the hospital to get his tonsils and adenoids removed. For the most part, the operation was uneventful. And, while he was under, he also had his PE tubes replaced and a baseline hearing test.

He's been put under anestheisa a few times (Hernia at 3 months, PE tubes at 15 months, and more recently, for an MRI), but he's really never had any issues coming out of it.

When he was coming out of the anesthesia, he couldn't sustain oxygen saturation on his own. And, he wouldn't wear a mask, for obvious reasons. So, I held him in my arms and held a tube to his face to keep the sats up above 92%. It wasn't until around 7:30pm that night that he was able to maintain a normal oxygen saturation level. But, by that time we had already been admitted to the hospital for observation.

That night was pretty rough. He was miserable from the surgery and fevers would come and go. We were woken at 3:30 am due to a 103 degree fever. Needless to say, we didn't get a very good sleep that night.

Since he's been discharged, he hasn't been 100%, but I think he's doing pretty well for a toddler undergoing multiple procedures in one operation. And, luckily we decided to celebrate his birthday the weekend before his operation, because I don't think he would have enjoyed the cake as much.

Monday, May 30
Well, we're here... in North Carolina. And, while the weather is a bit warmer than Connecticut, all things being equal, I'd rather be home.

Even though Monday was a holiday for most, we had our first appointment at 8:15am. Frankie had to have vital statistics taken, which basically includes height, weight and head circumference. Unbeknownst to us, he had "some" blood drawn.

When we walked into the room, there were AT LEAST 27 vials waiting to be filled.  Honestly, my first thought was "No freaking Way!"  He does not have good blood-giving veins, nor does his blood flow fast even when they can find a vein.  He clots almost immediately.  So, this was not a good sign.

It felt like hours later before all vials were filled... they had to try both arms and both feet!  That's about as gorey as I'll get about what happened. Suffice it to say, it wasn't pretty, but I'm glad it was the first day and we got it out of the way. It was all downhill from here, so we hoped.

At 1:00 that same day, he had an echocardiogram scheduled. And, thanks to Beach Party Barney, he didn't have to be sedated. It also didn't hurt that the woman doing the Echo was an attractive blonde.

After the Echo, we had to go back to the CHC to have his finger poked because one of the vials that was tested came back with a "peculiar" result. At least they didn't have to search for a vein this time, just poke his finger. However, Frankie would argue that point, I'm sure.

Tuesday, May 31
8:30 we were up again to the CHC to have more vital signs done, updated medical history and physical. Even though he wasn't getting blood drawn, he had already begun to associate the exam room with pain.

At 10:00am, we went to another floor at the CHC for a test called the Crying Vital Capacities. This is a weird way of saying lung study. Basically, for a child his age, they want to see how well they can exhale and inhale. This is provoked by placing a mask over the child's face and measuring his breathing as he cries. It sounds sadistic and when you're holding your child with a mask against his face, the only way you get through it is to keep telling yourself it's for his own health. They explain this to me at every test, and I repeat it to myself every time I see him get upset.

The last two appointments of the day were better, relatively speaking. I mean, of course Frankie balled his eyes out for every exam, but they weren't invasive or painful in any manner. He had an orthopedic appointment, which went well. He shows no signs right now of mobility problems. And the last appointment was at the opthamologist. Here, Elmo came to the rescue. Again, the doctor didn't see any problems with his eyes (example: cornea hazing).