Tiny Coconut

I have things.

Wednesday, June 22, 2005

If My Eyes Are NOT Deceiving Me, There's a Good Chance I'm Going to Lose My Mind

Last Tuesday, as I may have mentioned in passing (heh), N had a dual surgery--he had an epigastric hernia repaired, and he had his left testicle put back in the place it was supposed to be.

On Sunday, he was running around naked after playing on the new Slip-and-Slide he and Em purchased with their allowance. Now, granted, he was probably cold. But when Em said, "Um, Mom, which side was it that they fixed?" my heart sank. She was right. He was, um, lopsided again, except this time it was the mirror image of last time.

He had a recheck with the urologist on Monday; the urologist said that yes, now it does indeed appear that his right testicle is a wee bit high, but that could just be nerves. (Yeah, I guess if you'd just had a knife used in that area, you too might pull stuff in, involuntarily or not, every time someone tried to feel around down there...) STILL, he said, it could be that the right side is going to do the same disappearing act that the left side did, and we will be needing to keep a close eye on it. Greeeeeeaaaaaat.

Then, this evening, I was putting a new bandaid on his hernia scar; the steri-strips finally fell off, but the scar is a bit oozy, so I wanted to keep it covered with bacitracin, etc. Noah shifted just as I was finishing, and a flash of something caught my eye. A flash of roundness, of shadow. A flash of a bump.

"Get back here!" I bellowed after him. Poor kid came scurrying back, trying to figure out what he'd done wrong. I felt it, then felt it again, and again, and again. There's another lump. Just above where the first one was. Smaller, less immediately obvious. But another lump. Another hernia. Baroy is trying to come up with a million reasons why this doesn't mean what we both think it means--that either the surgery didn't work, or that it merely prompted the problem to move upward--but really, who is he trying to kid?

I know they were minor surgeries. I know N came through them with flying colors. I also know that there aren't enough meds in the world to keep me from throttling someone--anyone, even if there isn't anyone to blame--if it turns out we have to do the whole thing over again. Because, really. Someone's ass needs to be kicked, and it sure as hell ain't going to be my son's again...

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