On Wednesday, I have to call the Ambulatory Surgery department at the hospital to find out a time. At some point on Thursday, most likely early in the morning, Jeremy and I will take Jonah to the hospital with his favorite toy and his favorite blanket. They will escort Jeremy and I into a special waiting room and wheel Jonah away. He will be put under a general anesthetic, to make him go to sleep completely. Once it kicks in, Dr. Topley, the pediatric urologist, will finally fix the botched job that the substitute pediatrician did circumcising him when he was two days old.
The surgery will take approximately a half-hour. After it's done, they will take Jonah to recovery, where Jeremy and I will be allowed to be with him. We will stay there for an hour before we are allowed to take him home.
This is something that is necessary. Sadly, Dr. McGeath had the day off when Jonah was circumcised, and the pediatrician who was covering for him did a horrible job. She took off the wrong amount of skin - not enough to make it look like she'd done anything at all. Not enough to prevent further issues. It's starting to form penile adhesions. Too much longer and his foreskin will begin to grow shut over his glans. It has to be done. Had she taken any less, we could have let it go, and let him decide when he was older if he wanted to be re-circumcised or not.
We noticed, the first time we changed the dressing on it, that it didn't look like he'd been circumcised at all. Considering that we were charged for the procedure, we were mildly irritated over the fact. Once we were able to take the dressing off for good, we noticed that it looked like it was going to start binding.
We scheduled Jonah's two-week well-baby appointment. Dr. McGeath wasn't available for us to see that day, so we were forced to see the other physician in his practice, Dr. Decker. Again, we weren't happy over this - Dr. McGeath had been our pediatrician since the day after Matthew was born. He is a phenomenal doctor - very patient, loves children, respects parents and their opinions. He was more than willing to work with us and our requests to have Matthew on a delayed immunization schedule (as recommended by Jeremy's sister Lisa - the evidence linking vaccinations to autism may be anecdotal, but when the anecdotes are from your own family, they tend to hit a little closer to home. Matthew and Jonah both get all their vaccines, we just waited to start giving them to them until they were four months old, rather than at birth.), and takes great delight in the way we encourage our boys to be adventurous eaters - he's told me that he's even used us (without naming us, of course) as examples to other parents in his practice. He's never made us feel stupid or inferior, even when I've asked questions like "I had a severe allergic reaction to the DTP vaccine when I was a baby. What are the odds my boys are allergic?"
So we had to see the other physician, whom I will refer to as Dr. Ick. Dr. Ick ignored any input Jeremy tried to give. When I mentioned that we wanted to defer Jonah's vaccines till he was four months old like we did with Matthew, she proceeded to attempt to give me - again, ignoring Jeremy - a stern lecture about how there could be no possible link between vaccines and autism, and implied that I was a fool to consider it. When she pulled down Jonah's diaper to check and see how his circumcision was healing, I mentioned that it didn't look right, and asked about having it redone, due to the possibility of penile adhesions. She proceeded to define penile adhesions for me - even though I was fed up with her enough at this point to interrupt and tell her that I knew what they were (to which she responded by ignoring me and talking over top of me), and that a re-do wasn't necessary, all I had to do was force the skin back. Then she demonstrated. She made my two week old infant scream in pain. Then he started bleeding. I saw red. I lost it. Jeremy may have had to hold me back, I don't remember. I grayed out completely for a moment. She hurt my child, deliberately. What's more, according to the AAP, you are NOT supposed to forcibly retract the foreskin on an infant, as it can cause...ding ding ding, you guessed it, bleeding.
We both left that day in a state of rage. We stopped off at the receptionist's office to set up Jonah's one-month well-baby. We specifically requested Dr. McGeath. The receptionist nodded and set up the appointment. I took Jonah in for it, and they, yet again, shunted us over to Dr. Ick. I had had to take Jonah by myself - I think Jeremy stayed home with Matthew that day. I answered her questions as coldly and simply as I could, and when she attempted to force his foreskin back again, I snapped "Please refrain from making his penis bleed again!" She mentioned that she was sending the nurse in to give him *whatever* shot she thought he needed, and I stated that he was NOT going to be vaccinated until he was four months old. She left, and I left right behind her, thinking that perhaps she'd try to send the nurse in with the prepared injection anyway, and try to bill us for the wasted medicine. I stopped off at the reception desk to set up his two-month appointment, and mentioned that we did NOT want our children seeing anyone but Dr. McGeath. The receptionist gave me a cold glare and said "Dr. McGeath is no longer treating Medicaid patients. All children with Medicaid are to see Dr. Ick, or no one else." I was stunned. I scheduled the appointment, took, my son, and left.
The rage started to hit about halfway home. I had to pull over at 7/11 and have a smoke. My hands were shaking too badly to drive, I was so angry. I got home and vented to Jeremy.
Matthew had his 18-month checkup a week before Jonah's two-month appointment. Jeremy and I both went this time. We waited to see if we were going to be passed off to Dr. Ick again. Nope, we were lucky enough to see Dr. McGeath. Once the nurse came and left, and Dr. McGeath came in, he examined Matthew, gave his usual complimentary report about how well Matthew was growing and developing, and then asked us if we had any questions. This was Jeremy's cue. He's much better at staying cool, calm, collected, and rational than I am - I either get cold and blunt or red-hot-angry and spew profanity. Jeremy simply stated that he couldn't understand why Dr. McGeath would see one of our children, a Medicaid patient, and not the other one, and that if we couldn't have them both see him, then we'd find another practice where we wouldn't be discriminated against based on the fact that our children were Medicaid babies.
Dr. McGeath looked floored. He asked us to tell him exactly what happened. We did. I described the receptionist who had - twice - passed us off to Dr. Ick. I even mentioned that we DID NOT like her, that we didn't agree with her tactics, that she had been rude to Jeremy and had manhandled Jonah in a potentially dangerous manner, and that, in short, we much preferred him, if we were able to have both our children see him.
He hastened to explain that there had been a mix-up, of course he'd see Jonah, he'd been wondering why he hadn't seen him yet, and then excused himself momentarily. I heard his footsteps go down the hall like the tread of Doom, and snickered in mean-spirited glee at my hope that he would ream the receptionist out. When he came back, he told us that he'd switched Jonah's next appointment so that he would be seeing him, not Dr. Ick, and that he would always see our boys. We were satisfied.
When we left, we stopped at the receptionist's desk to set up Matthew's two-year well-baby. I couldn't resist, I had to do it. I said, "And we'd prefer to see Dr. McGeath again." The receptionist mean-mugged me, and I replied with my best angelic, beatific smile. Heh heh heh.
So Jonah finally got to see Dr. McGeath. Dr. McGeath took one look at his poor peep, and said that of course it could be redone, that it SHOULD be redone, but that we'd have to wait till he was a year old, as he'd need general anesthesia, and it would be too dangerous to do so before then.
At Jonah's one year well-baby, Dr. McGeath said that he was calling over to P-town Urology to make the referral. He warned us that there was a possibility that they wouldn't be able to do the surgery up here, that we may need to take him downstate. He followed that up by asking us if there was a downstate hospital that we preferred. We said that Hurley Hospital, down in Flint, would be good - plenty of family to stay with down there, easy babysitting for Matthew while surgery was going on - and he said that if NMH wasn't able to do it, he would personally call Hurley to make the referral. Have I mentioned how much I love Dr. McGeath?
Petoskey Urology called me a few hours after we got home. (This was a Friday.) They set the appoinment up for early Monday morning.
We took Jonah in on Monday. Filled out the preliminary paperwork. And then...the receptionist calls us up to tell us that Jonah's Medicaid has been cancelled. From 3 pm Friday to 10 am Monday, they'd terminated his coverage. Something about income limits.
It took twelve applications and nine months, but we finally got him covered again. We took Jonah in for his 18 month appointment, two months late, and we got the urology appointment re-scheduled. Dr. Topley examined him, said they could do it up here, and gave us a general idea of how long it would take.
And so, my baby boy is going in for surgery on Thursday.
I know it needs to be done. We had a hell of a fight getting to the point where we could have it done. It's medically necessary. And yet, I'm a little scared. General anesthesia is frightening enough when it's being done on an adult. This is my 22 month old son.
NMH has a great pediatric department, and a great ICU. I'm not overly concerned about malpractice. What has me scared is more on a visceral level.
I know my baby boy, my little Jonah Lee. He's a chubby, happy, affectionate and loving little guy. Everyone is his best friend, the first time they meet him. He tries to hug strangers. He loves everyone. He flirts and cuddles. When he gives hugs and kisses, which is often, he will pat your back as he holds you. He'd be perfectly content to be carried on my hip all day long, just so that he could hug me and kiss me with ease. He's a chatterbox, a cuddly love. But, despite the fact that he is so friendly, he is, deep down (and on the surface) a mama's boy to the max. Perhaps it's because I went two and a half weeks overdue with him. Perhaps it's the fact that they had to resort to surgical intervention so that he could be born. Perhaps it's the fact that I had to carry him more than I had to carry Matthew. Jonah was colicky, and Matthew wasn't, and one of the very few things that would give him comfort was for me to hold him and walk the room. Jonah never got into the "daddy nap" the way Matthew did. Also, Matthew was at the phase where he was fairly new to walking, and wanting to poke eyes and pull hair, and Jonah was only safe from Matthew's typical toddler exploration in my arms. Whatever the case may be, Jonah has always been "my" boy, the mama's boy, the balance to Matthew's obvious and life-long preference for Daddy over Mommy.
What scares me is the thought of my little snuggle-butt waking up and becoming terrified of strange men over him and no mommy in sight. It terrifies the control freak and primal mother in me that they will not allow me to stand by his bed or even in the same room as him while they operate. And the fact that I am the instrument to the pain he will most surely suffer as he recovers, necessary or no, breaks my heart into a million tiny shards.
So my Jonah will be having surgery. And yes, it is necessary, and yes, I am happy that it is finally going to be done. But am I happy about it in general? No. I would love to catch the pediatrician that botched the original job. I'd love to beat the holy shit out of her for being the cause of this (although I probably wouldn't, when it comes down to it - Mommy in jail for assault would be much more painful for both my boys than Mommy not allowed in the OR). I'd love to make her sit and listen while I unleashed a torrent of invective against her that would make a harpy blush, that would make her ears bleed and her knees buckle under the assault of my righteous wrath. I would love to have her license to mutilate little boys revoked permanently. But instead, I will pack the flannel blanket that my mother made for Jonah when he was born. I will pack the stuffed baby snowman that Jonah appropriated from Matthew's collection, that he calls "bahbah." I will make sure that Jonah doesn't eat or drink after 11:59 pm Wednesday night. I will kiss Matthew goodbye, take Jonah to the hospital, sign him in, and wait in agony until he is returned to me. I will take him home after his time in recovery is done. I will keep him dosed with children's Tylenol and Motrin. And every time I give him a dose, I will curse the name of the substitute physician who made this ordeal necessary.
Is it a kind and forgiving thing to do? No. Is is a sign that I am a big person? No. But I am a mother. My child will be in pain. And rather than blame myself, turn the guilt inward as I typically do, I will lay the fault for his hurt at her doorstep, and may she carry that burden, unwillingly or no, till the day she dies.
Because, above all else that I am, daughter, sister, friend, lover, cook, writer, smoker, ally, liberal - I am a mother.
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