The Operation

 

It was the Sunday night, the eve of Evelyn's operation. We were sat in our room in NICU having some food. I remember we had a McDonalds, as that was the easiest and most accessible at the time, but I distinctly remember it tasting of nothing. My whole body started to shake, I couldn't control it. I was so scared that the next morning Evelyn would be having her operation, that my body just couldn't cope and was so on edge. 

The next morning we went to her bedside and had cuddles first thing. I held her so tightly. Then the surgery team came to see us. The surgeon was renowned for his work in this field and we felt she was in safe hands. We had to go through the paperwork so we followed the surgical team to the family room to discuss the consent forms and sign them. There is only one statement that I remember from the discussion, it haunts me to this day. The anaesthetist explained her role and how precarious an operation on such a young baby is. She then stated that 'If she isn't going to survive we will call you and bring you down to the theatre. We won't let her die alone.' I don't think I could ever truly explain what those words felt like to hear. I felt sick, my heart pounded, I just wanted to scream. 

Once she had been taken down to theatre we waited in our room. There was nothing much more we could do and the anxiety was debilitating. After around an hour there was a knock on our door. It was the surgeons - there was a complication. Evelyn only had 1 working lung, on the left side. Her right lung had grown on her oesophagus rather than her trachea. This was an incredibly rare defect, so much so that, as I understand it, it has only been seen once in the previous 10 years in the entire UK. That 1 incident was unbelievably 6 months previous in Manchester on a baby boy that our surgeon had operated on. Our surgeon explained that they had taken the course of action with that little boy to leave the lung in, however that had not had a good outcome. I don't think I need to state what that means. Our surgeon advised that he felt the best way forward would be to remove the lung in Evelyn's case. We consented to his advice. What else could we do? There is only 1 other case to go off and that baby hadn't survived. All we could do was hope and pray that this time there would be a better outcome by taking a different course of action. 

And so we waited. I received a phone call from a withheld number, I answered the phone terrified. It was the community midwife to see how I was doing. The relief was indescribable. I also took my last strong painkillers. I took them and found that my head was spinning once they took effect. I had to just lie down. It felt like my insides were shaking. I knew there and then that I needed to have my wits about me at all times and therefore I could deal with the pain.

Our parents joined us in the day for a coffee and, as you can imagine, just support us and love us. 

Evelyn was in surgery for at least 5 agonising hours, but it was a success. She had had enough oesophagus to reattach and her right lung had been removed. She had a feeding tube inserted, which would go on to cause much anxiety going forward, but that's a story for another time. She was on a ventilator. The doctors were amazed that she had required so little oxygen support in the early days with only having one lung. This wouldn't be so surprising the more we got to know her. Her strength and resilience was awe inspiring. How was this tiny baby able to survive such an ordeal? 

When she returned from surgery she had the most beautiful purple hat on. A lovely nurse called Amy had gone to a lot of trouble to find the perfect hat that suited her. I will discuss the nurses on the ward in a blog just for them but this is just an example of the way they go above and beyond and I consider them all part of our family. 

Evelyn was still with us. Surviving. Fighting.