This week, after four months of Rhea having hearing loss due to fluid in her middle ear that the nurse audiologist concurred has made her ‘as deaf as a post’ (‘watch her near cars especially, she can’t hear them’), Rhea had day surgery to implant grommets into her ears.
I had the same procedure done when I was seven. I remember enjoying the novelty of being in a hospital and people being extra nice to me; the event also marked the beginning of my lifelong love affair with apricot and coconut bars, which mum had bought me as a special treat but are now sadly no longer available. I wonder whether the array of special food she was given afterwards will similarly form the overwhelming memory of the event for her.
There were other highlights. One-on-one time with me, still rare. One of the nurses blew up a glove and drew a face on it for her around the thumb-nose. Rhea thought my outfit of disposable hospital gown, cap and shoes was pretty amusing. We both loved the warmed white cotton blanket she was given to wrap around her just before going in to theatre, and the ride on the bed into theatre must have been fun. This earlier exchange is also illustrative, when I was explaining to Rhea and Lara what the procedure would involve:
Me: ‘The doctors will give you a needle so that you go to sleep and you don’t feel anything.’
Rhea: ‘Oh! I don’t like needles.’
Lara: ‘I like needles! Because after a needle you get a round bandaid!’
For myself it was a little confronting and overwhelming to see my little girl given a general anaesthetic by gas, however competently and sensitively done: they distracted her with questions about her preschool and upon learning that she goes to a French preschool, the anaesthetist and his assistant sought her confirmation of the numbers to count up to twenty in French, and she nodded at each one.
I was a little surprised that there would be so many people in theatre for such a routine operation: at least five people all gowned up. The question to me by one of them as they escorted me out as soon as Rhea was unconscious also made me reflect – he asked if it was worrying to see my child like that. I said that it was okay as I knew she was in good hands. That was true. But I couldn’t eat much or do anything except look out at the winter garden courtyard as I waited for the ENT specialist to tell me how it had gone, and it was that question combined with the roomful of medical staff that brought home to me that any operation and anaesthetic carries risk.
Of course she was fine, and a nurse came to get me as soon as she woke up. I left her soon after to collect Lara from preschool. Rhea was happily tucking in to a lemon icy pole, two packets of biscuits (savoury and sweet), a small tub of yoghurt, a cup of jelly (green, red and orange), with a small tub of icecream open for her to eat when she was ready. After confusing the receptionist, who thought that Lara was Rhea and if she had been discharged, why were we coming back, I procured an icy pole and some biscuits for Lara and we learnt that Rhea had thrown up in my absence, perhaps nausea or perhaps overindulging after fasting for 7 hours. Lara enjoyed her treats, though she was heartbroken that she wasn’t also getting the small candy cane and (now squashed) freckle lolly that Rhea had selected as her post operative treat. They both had round bandaids applied to their hands though. Joy.
We are still working through some postop issues that the drops Rhea was prescribed seem to cause her pain. Her hearing won’t be greatly improved until after the four day course of these drops. The doctor has ruled out an allergic reaction to them, but prescribed a different brand anyway, which seems to make little difference. But I hope we’ll be over that soon, and Rhea will again be able to hear without relying on lipreading or needing us to repeat everything up to four times. Her most often-repeated question ‘wot?’ will hopefully be a thing of the past. She has indicated that she is hearing much better already.
