Maximus took an art class at an awesome little art studio in our town. How cute is that? We don't have any fast food, grocery stores, or convenience stores but we have an art studio for kids.
To see how different the personalities of a small group of toddlers are, put them in a little art class. Some pay so much attention to detail and could work on the same project for the whole class and some are done in 30 seconds and are ready to move on to the next and nothing is going to stop them (ahem, that would be Maximus). On this particular project, the kids were able to use a roller and roll paint on to their paper. Max did that for about 30 seconds then chose to change it on
to finger painting and then hand printing. Here he is making a hand print with his left hand. That is as flat as he can get his hand. But you'll notice, it doesn't stop him.
When I look at that little handprint, I see an imperfect, perfect little handprint. It is just so Maximus. So much story behind that handprint.
The surgeon let us know in the winter that Maximus was going to have to have more grafts done this summer. He is growing, the scars are contracting and that makes for a pretty tight palm and fingers that don't get to stretch and straighten like they want to. So these surgeries seem to be routine. As long as he is growing, his grafted skin and scars will need help keeping up.
Routine surgery. That's a heavy thought.
So, like he does before every surgery, he gets the gown, refuses the hat, and watches a show as he gets poked and prodded.
He gets a drug before they wheel him in to the surgery room and it seems it may be just for our entertainment. He gets so silly. Then we go to the waiting room and wait and wait and wait and wait. I go down to the cafeteria and get Banbury Cross donuts because they are delicious and some awesome hospital ice but that only kills only a fraction of the time. When the surgeon finally comes out, we get to hear how the surgery went. In this case, he told us he did two grafts, taking the skin from two places on his groin area and putting it on the upper palm area. He also did a z plasty on the webbing between his thumb and forefinger to help ease some of the pulling. It went well, no complications.
We go to the recovery room where we wait for Maximus to wake up. He is in room full of patients that are waking up from surgery. There is lot's moaning and it's an emotional place.
He wakes up upset. Mostly angry at the oxygen mask, and then the pulsometer, then the IV, then the blood pressure cuff, then the bandages on his arm. He begs, cries, demands for them to be removed. At one point he held all of them up and said, "I don't want any of these. Take them off."
This time he also had croup from the tube down his throat. The nurse was able to subside it but he still has a super scratchy throat. He was asking for his bandages to be removed, saying they were too tight. We told them they would help him get better. In pain, he sobbed, "The bandaids aren't working!"
When he is fully awake and breathing on his own, they move us to the rooms that we start in. In order to leave, Maximus has to be able to hold down drink and food and have a wet diaper. The nurse offered him a popsicle and he replied, "I'm too bandaid-y for a popsiple." (He calls them popsicles and we think it's too good to correct). When it all looks good, we head out, pick up his pain meds, and drive home. This time, he fell asleep on the way home.
Knock on wood, but of the outpatient surgeries that he has had, this has been the best recovery so far. He hasn't pulled off his bandages, has plenty of energy, and is eating and sleeping. We have even gone on walks and he is asking to go to someone's house. He won't say whose house he wants to go to, though. Just someone.
So, Maximus… it all went well. Thank goodness.
I told my friend yesterday that Maximus is determined to enjoy his life. And maybe some days I feel like he is bulldozing me because I get in the way of him enjoying himself. But this post isn't about of me.
So his little handprint can be a reminder… even when things aren't perfect, life can still be enjoyed.