Jake went to the urologist yesterday, and just as his pediatrician thought it looks like his testicle isn't going to descend on it's own. The doctor we met with is the surgeon who will be performing the surgery on the 26th, and I liked him well enough to let him dig around in my baby. He has been doing this for nearly 30 years and it will be done at CHOP, which is the oldest and one of the best children's hospitals in the country. It is a routine outpatient procedure, which is nice.
Because Jake's testicle is in the inguinal canal and he may have a hernia keeping it in there, a few incisions will be made in his abdomen and scrotum. The recovery time is about two weeks, and he won't be able to straddle anything during that time. No walkers, exersaucers, jumpy toys, rides on knees, or supporting him with a hand between the legs while I'm struggling to feed the cat and do some laundry and write a check to the gas company and keep Jake held and happy all at the same time. I'll spare you further gory details, if you are interested in reading more click here. As the urologist said, basically we will "just be putting the old 8 ball in the corner pocket". Cute, but I bet he tells that joke at least ten times per day. Multiply that times thirty years and you have a gaggle of nurses that are so over hearing that. And I'm so over saying testicle just to be polite. Ball, ball, ball, nutsack.
I can't say that I am worried about the procedure, but it sure doesn't feel good to say "I had to schedule surgery for my son today, and we meet with the anesthesiologist on the twentieth". Go ahead and say it out loud. Sucks, doesn't it? Of course we all know the risks with general anesthesia, but I have been put under at least twice that I can remember and I obviously made it through okay. And then there was that local I had for Jake's delivery. I came out of that in record time. I don't know anyone who has ever had any lingering effects from anesthesia, so I am pretty confident that Jake will be okay too. It is just sad to think of him with his eyes taped shut and a tube helping him breath and wires hooked up to his little chest, but things could be worse.
Spending a couple hours in a children's hospital was not fun at all. We were in the building that houses urology and oncology, which is a horrible combination. You could be there because your pee pee doesn't work right or you can be there because your innards are rotting just as fast as they are growing. Parents look at one another in hope and desperation, and everyone forces a smile and says "hello" and "best of luck" and "God's blessings", just in case.
The support staff, nurses, and doctors were all fantastic, and I found it odd that everyone seemed to be surprised that Jake was only six months old. I know he is longish, and has the face of a toddler and the hair of- well- his father, but I couldn't help but wonder if he just one of the healthiest babies they see there. The urologist called him husky, the nurse called him a bruiser, the intake worker asked me three times if I was sure that his birth weight was really only 5 lbs 12 oz, and the receptionist said that he is one of the biggest six month old babies she has ever seen. In truth, he really isn't all that monstrous. Very sad. When I was in the waiting room talking to other mothers, I was shocked that the babies that looked to be three or four months old were really six or seven months old. Kids that seemed like kindergarteners were well into grade school. It was horrible. Best of luck and God's blessings to those children indeed.