It was supposed to be a simple myringotomy. You know, the ear tube surgery that tons of kids have done which is why the brochure Peter’s doctor gave to him had smiling children hooked up to IVs.
Philip dropped five Cheerios on the tile floor under Peter’s hospital bed. Peter hadn’t been allowed to eat or drink after midnight, and I skipped breakfast due to nerves.
Philip waved and said, “Bye-bye!” on four separate occasions, echoing Peter’s hopes that the procedure would be completed soon and we could get the hell out of the surgery center. I made them both wait.
Peter drank three cups of coffee in the recovery room while I thwarted Philip’s attempts to push the red “CODE” button.
Despite the caffeine, Peter asked me the same questions two times since anesthesia still fogged his memory.
For one moment, I almost lost control of my emotions as the surgeon explained what he had found.