Spine Sciencea

He's a taller than me man now, this little boy who didn't grow much until the eighth grade; he chipped a tooth playing street hockey and had the frenum under his tongue snipped, but that was the extent of any medical poking about.  Two days ago, he went for spinal surgery to alleviate the pain that has dogged him for nine months in spite of physical therapy.  Apparently simpler than thought, the doctor dug in, shaved the disk, and gave him internal sutures that will dissolve, and glued the outside entry wound shut.  Glued.

Losing only a thimbleful of blood, he has no memory of being given anesthesia and of being in the operating room just dimly.  No counting back from one hundred, no you're-gonna-love-this happy shot before to soothe nerves, he was done in under an hour, the surgeon's first of the day.  So a fairly routine operation, seemingly successful, and I made lemon bars to send to DC.

Did you know that the spinal cord doesn't go all the way down to the tailbone?  Not me, I thought spine was spine, but the cord ends about five vertebrae up, above the lumbar region.  Yay!  I mean it.  Less chance of dire results, faster healing, and an easy repair to the recalcitrant disk, all pluses.  After what I went through to get this kid, any spinal disk with attitude will be dealing with an angry mother, his angry girlfriend, and other upset people; I am surprised the thing didn't turn tail and run from the negative vibes we sent.  But, as anything, it is what it is.

I remember when having him, the blessed relief of that numbing shot that went right into my own spine; I had to sign a paper during contractions stating that in case of paralysis, i wouldn't sue anyone because there were chances of that happening.  By that time, however, I would have let them inject me with heroin capped with plutonium if it would have made the pain go away.  I was goofy, giggling, and found out years later that that is part of the opiated plan; I had always felt bad that I was a laughing hyena while the doctors, two men, struggled to get him out...he was stuck and one held the gurney, while the other's arms shook with the tension of getting this kid out of my then size 4 hips.  They put something in the shot that makes you goofy.  I thought I was being callous, I was dancing over meadows of bright flowers in my mind, and my baby had the cord wrapped around his neck, facing backwards, and damn near had his head pulled off with the salad tongs.  I wonder who the brave person was to take the first experimental shot into the cord.  Bless you.

Now he is recovering tentatively, some residual pain seems to be lingering, that should go.  The relief that medical procedures have advanced to take care of things like this plays counterpoint to the idea that my child was cut into, my Buzz.  Yet how many parents face it everyday with young ones, sometimes repeatedly; it is a heart-catching roller coaster of hell's curves and our family has been spared that.  He has been given Valium and Percoset for pain and is weaning off of them already.

You only want good things for your children, but when an obstacle is thrown their way, you feel an amount of pride in the manner that they handle it.  He has been sleeping well, and has permission to walk, which he can, shuffling.  Not allowed to lift a gallon of milk or bend for the toilet seat.  Can take stairs slowly, but shouldn't lean over to spit toothpaste.

The air has been chilly and damp with rain that changes to hail, oddest sound when driving in a car and the ice pellets hit the windshield and metal.  You feel like you're in a salt shaker.  It's been lovely for sunsets, for the clouds are all fiery reds and magentas deepening to purples before scudding over the far lake to the west, into darkness.  Sleep, then, count your fingers and toes no matter how many or not.  You are alive, you are here, and there are those of us that love you so.  Sleep well, goodnight.