East Coast Ramble - Part 2 - Minor Procedures

Key West–Miami–Key West

Friday -- At Key West Airport I’m smothered by my children, who always look a little disbelieving that it’s really me, really there again, with them. For my part, each time I arrive I’m surprised, too, by these little energy pockets whose arms and legs are longer each time I see them, in eight week increments. It’s not enough. Tahra is usually quiet but shiny-eyed when I arrive, letting the girls get their fill. For the kids, the excitement of me wears off as soon as the baggage belt lurches to life, however, and I’m struck by Gryffyn’s urgent motherly protectiveness of Ursula. When the conveyor belt’s flashing light comes on, she clamps an arm firmly around Ursula’s shoulder and pulls her near, every time. These three girls look out for each other.

Saturday -- I’m up early. I have to go to Key West hospital for a blood test and EKG in advance of my knee surgery, scheduled for Wednesday, the day after Ursula’s oral surgery in Miami. (I tore my meniscus playing soccer in Juba just before Christmas, couldn't walk much for about a week.) At home later, in between playing with the girls, Tahra and I work on getting the house ready for our move, scheduled for the week after next. And Uncle Brent is flying in, from Phoenix, on Wednesday night -- the same night we come back from Miami after Ursula’s surgery. It’s a crazy mess of a schedule, during which I also have to visit a urologist to make sure my vasectomy is still working. Long story, but everything is ok in that department.

Tuesday – Tahra has an appointment with a rheumatologist in Miami in the afternoon, who refers her immediately and unexpectedly to an allergist a few miles away for a biopsy of some mysterious and disturbing new spots on her lower legs. Turns out it's vasculitis, not a good sign considering the powerful meds she is on. More to worry about. Ursula’s surgery is on Wednesday morning at Miami Children’s Hospital, so we decide to stay overnight in Miami at one of our favorite places, The Biltmore Hotel in Coral Gables. We like this historic old place, which has giant bird cages in the ornate, wood-paneled reception hall, along with what is reportedly the largest outdoor swimming pool on the East Coast. We’ve stayed here three or four times during trips through Miami, and always enjoy it. There’s really good sushi nearby and a little Moroccan restaurant we like just off the Miracle Mile, and the girls are crazy about the huge, L-shaped pool. Seemed like a good idea to rest in luxury after a long day of driving and before what was certain to be a traumatic and stressful medical event tomorrow – Ursula’s surgery, which would entail full anesthesia for several hours and much painful work inside her little mouth. Also, the Biltmore is right around the corner from Miami Children’s, where we were scheduled to check in the next day at 7 a.m.

Wednesday – Oral surgery day is here. We have given minimal information to Ursula up to this point, but now we casually let her know that the dentist is going to see her today to fix her cavity and give her teeth a good cleaning. Never-had-a-cavity Gryffyn is in on it – she knows it’s a bit more serious than that and she has done a good job keeping quiet so as not to terrify her sister, who doesn’t do too well with dentists or doctors.

Ten minute drive to the hospital from the Biltmore, still dark out, and we’re all quiet in the car. I’m nervous, Tahra’s nervous, and the kids are still sleepy. At the hospital, we are checked in quickly by a no-fuss receptionist and the girls set about puttering around the kid-friendly, art-filled waiting room, occupied by other grim-faced parents and wary-looking children. Upstairs in the ‘’minor procedures’’ area, numerous friendly people check on us, ask us lots of questions, flip through paperwork, and finally, the dentist arrives. Ursula mercifully takes a little liquid medicine to make her sleepy, which is great because by now she has figured out something big is going on, what with the hospital bed, hanging wires, beeping machines and other small children walking and rolling around in pastel gowns, not to mention ladies with clipboards and stethoscopes whisking our curtain back and forth.

“Ok Ursula, can you come up here on the bed now?” one of the nurses perkily asks, when the surgeon is ready.

“Cool! A rolling bed, wanna get in a bed with WHEELS on it?!” I croak.

No. Even a half-drugged Ursula will not get willingly into a hospital gurney, no matter how much fun her lying daddy says it will be, and she clings heavy-lidded and moaning to her mother’s neck, and stays stuck on as Tahra walks through the big double-doors into the OR, after which, Tahra later told me, she succumbed to the pharmaceuticals and was laid out, noodle-like, on the bed with a gas mask strapped onto her cherubic Ursula face.

Three hours, seven cavities, two crowns and one root canal later, I would see her again, and she was not happy. By late afternoon, however, we were back in the Volvo heading for Key West, with Uncle Brent somewhere in the skies above due to meet us in a few hours, and Ursula mowing through bananas in the back seat while watching Angelina Ballerina.