Gearing Up for the Long Haul

Tyson has avoided another appointment with the scalpel.

I’d like to rack it up as another round for his corner, but this one is more like a draw.

He’s come home with a feeding tube and we are force-feeding him every three hours in an attempt to get him to gain weight and get stronger so we can get him to that operation he needs. Since that operation is scheduled for some time around the 6-month-old mark, we will likely feed him through the tube for another five months.

It is incredibly ironic to me that a son of mine is having a problem gaining weight. I can look at a pizza and put on two pounds.

But his heart works extremely hard. You can literally see it pounding at his chest. Eating dinner is like running a marathon. Sitting still is even difficult. Like his dad, he sweats watching television.

Combine his overworked heart with the terrible acid reflux/colic he has – which makes him not want to eat – and you have a troublesome situation that could lead to weight loss, not weight gain.  

We thought Sydney’s gas issues were distressing; Tyson has taken it ten levels higher. If the poor boy is awake for three hours, he is in pain or uncomfortable for two hours and 45 minutes. Writhing pain. I live for those 15 minutes where he is comfortable and both he and I can relax.

I have determined he is really only comfortable with me in one position – sitting straight up with my hands underneath his arms. He can sit on my belly like this, and occasionally I can bounce him. The problem is, my shoulders get tired after about 15 minutes, and he wants me to do it for three hours. I may look like a young Arnold Schwarzenegger when this is all over.

Between the pain and his heart working overtime, he gets exhausted quickly and sleeps a lot. I like when he sleeps because it gives us both a break, but I feel guilty because I am not sure he is getting the developmental stimulation he needs.

He really is a cute kid. Who knows what he would be like in a normal situation. I’d love to see him smile. I can’t wait for us to have a normal father-son relationship.

Until then, we persevere.  

The feeding tube is not as bad as it sounds. It goes through his nose down into his stomach. We attempt to feed him the prescribed amount from the bottle first and whatever he doesn’t eat gets put in through the tube.

The tube is helpful because he really isn’t eating right now. We aren’t sure if it is the acid reflux/colic, or if it is because he is never hungry. If your belly is being filled up every three hours, it is unlikely you’re ever going to be hungry. Unless you are me, of course.

But it is working. He gained 50 grams in two days. Don't ask me how much that really is. Thirty-five years after I learned the metric system in school because we were on the verge of conversion, we still are arrogantly telling the rest of the world to stuff their kilograms and meters where the sun don't shine.

It is exhausting to feed every three hours. Think about it: midnight, 3 a.m., 6 a.m., 9 a.m., noon, 3 p.m., 6 p.m. 9 p.m. One of us doesn’t go to bed until after that midnight feed, then the other takes the 3 a.m. Then one has to take the 6 a.m.

There’s a process to these feedings. Push air in to make sure the tube is in the right spot. Pour the milk in the tube and let it slowly drain down. Then clean the tube by flushing it with water.

Each feed takes about a half hour to 45 minutes. That means you have 2 ½ hours max until the next feeding. You better get your sleep on quickly. If you are like me and have trouble falling asleep once you wake, you are in trouble. Several times, I have not been able to fall asleep until about an hour before I need to wake for the next feeding.

My wife could sleep through a pack of howling hound dogs treeing a raccoon underneath our bedroom window. If a hurricane hit the house – as long as it wasn’t Hurricane Sydney or Hurricane Tyson – I’m pretty sure she’d fail to raise an eyelid as the house swirled away.

Of course, she denies this. This leads to conversations such as this:

Me: I just can’t get to sleep after I wake up. I am going on about three hours  of sleep a night.

Brooke: I know what you are saying honey, I have….zzzzzzzz.

Or :

Me: My life is a mess. I am not sure how we are going to do this for five months. We’ll never sleep.

Brooke: We just have to work out a plan that ….zzzzzzzz.

The truth is, I envy her. I have always had sleep issues, but they have gotten worse over the past two years – coinciding with the arrival of Sydney, I guess. Kids put the pressure on, right? I often have trouble falling asleep to start the night and, once I wake up, I’m going to run every aspect of my life through my head in an attempt to solve all my problems before I doze off again.

We will keep plugging away. I’m extremely happy Tyson does not have to go under the knife – at this point – just to get him healthy enough to go under the knife again. If he can fight like he is doing, mommy and daddy can do six months of sleepless nights.

At least I get the break of work. Brooke not only has to deal with Tyson during the day, but she has a rambunctious Sydney wrecking the house. My life is tough; hers is tougher.

We are discussing our options to figure out the best way to attack this. Tyson won’t be able to do child care in this condition. We’re considering everything from calling in the troops (family) to professional help to job alterations for mom and dad. We’ll find a groove.

Every good fighter needs a strong team in his corner.

Back to the Hospital

Tyson is back in the hospital.

He’s really struggling.

They’re inserting a feeding tube in hopes of pushing more calories into him so he gains weight. Gaining weight is crucial. He has to gain weight and get stronger for a heart operation scheduled at around six months. If he does not gain weight, he faces a heart operation now just to get him to a point where his heart doesn’t work so hard, thereby making it easier to eat and allowing him to gain weight and get stronger for that second operation.

He’ll spend a few days in the hospital on the feeding tube and IV medicine. They will teach us how to work with the tube, which will be in him 24/7. If he gains weight in the next few days,  they’ll let him come home and we will be responsible for feeding and administering the tube should it become dislodged.

He’ll likely have the tube in until his operation – whether the first one becomes necessary or we make it to the second one.

If he does not gain weight in the next few days, he’ll probably go straight to the operation.

Heart Heart-breaking.

We had such high hopes when we were able to bring him home early – we felt like he was going to breeze through this battle. Far from it.  

He had a healthy appetite when he first came home, but he has gone downhill since then. We’ve determined he has acid reflux, which is leading to colic. This results in what seems like perpetual pain, especially between the hours of 9 p.m. and midnight. By the end of the day, you can literally hear the reflux starting in his stomach and making its way northward.

This is not uncommon in babies, but it is more common and more severe in babies with heart defects.

This poor boy’s life has been really, really tough so far. From needles and monitors in the NICU to constant stomach pain at home; he has had nothing but challenges. And the worst is yet to come.

I’m starting to lose my cool and get depressed all at the same time. The kid doesn’t deserve this bullshit.

I feel guilty because I sometimes get angry. He requires much attention and work. He constantly needs held and repeatedly repositioned because he can’t stay comfortable in one spot very long. He moves very similarly to a worm on a fish hook, desperately trying to find a spot where he can be comfortable. He cries and grunts throughout the day.

I don’t know if it is anger. Maybe it is just frustration. Or exhaustion. But my shortness with him is not right. He can’t help it.

He’s up into the night because being on his back is painful. They tell you when your child has reflux, keep them as upright as possible. My wife has taken to sleeping with him lying on her belly because that is more comfortable for him.

She’s a saint. Up with him all night and then dealing with Tyson and rambunctious Sydney all day.  Without a doubt, I hit the wife lottery and Sydney and Tyson hit the mom lottery.

Unfortunately, her love can’t work magic. The next few days are crucial. As repulsive to me as it is to have my son living with a feeding tube, I DO NOT want that surgery.

I’ll keep you updated when we know more.

Double the Trouble

 

 

Please someone tell me why I elected to have one child, let alone two?

This is what goes through your mind at 2 a.m. when the crying from the newborn has awakened the 21 month old who finally fell asleep at 11 p.m. after crying and talking in her bed for two hours. The same 21 month old who is allergic to sleep and, if awakened by her crying brother, is likely to be up for another two hours. Her carrying on will eventually wake her little brother… and the whole cycle will start over.

Woe. Is. Me.

Good thing I have a wife who is a teacher and has summers off. “Honey, can you deal with Tyson and Sydney and wake me in the morning?”

Yeah, right. The answer to that is likely to be a right hook that knocks me off the bed.

You want to know how life is in the Gregg household? Two kids. Two adults. Man-to-man defense.

I’m tired. Just tired.

And my wife is the one carrying the water. I suck at taking care of babies. I would rather watch Sydney by myself for a week than watch Tyson by myself for a day. I never know what is wrong with the kid. I can’t ever make him happy. I’m always afraid I’m hurting him, or smothering him or missing some sign that he might die in the next 15 minutes.

With Sydney, it’s like, “Here’s a toy, here’s the Sprout TV network, here’s a grilled cheese sandwich, there’s a gate on the stairs and the cabinets are locked down ….now let daddy play Words with Friends for three hours.”

Thank God for my wife. And I am not the only one who says that. I am pretty sure Tyson screams that in his little mind every time Brooke takes him from me because I have screwed up and sent him into a tizzy.  

Speaking of Sydney, she has not exactly welcomed her little brother with open arms. She still calls him baby. Occasionally, she will say brother. I don’t think she ever says Tyson.

The first time she saw him cry, she felt so bad she cried, too. But that sympathy didn’t last long. Ever since, when he cries, she laughs hysterically.

I’m clearly raising a budding sadist.

She hasn’t pushed him off the couch yet, but she hasn’t embraced him either. She, like Vegas the dog, mostly ignores him.  On the rare occasion when she does acknowledge his presence, she might go over to pat him on his head and show a little affection. But her pats are slaps, like when she pets the dog.

He’s too fragile to endure slaps upside the head.

She does like to bounce in his bouncing chair. The weight limit on it is 25 pounds. At her last doctor’s visit, she weighed 24. I’m thisclose to a broken bouncing chair.

Tyson is adjusting to his new world. He already sleeps better than his big sister. It is probably too early to make the call that he will be a good sleeper, but all signs point that way.

He LOVES to be held. I don’t know if it is the product of being in that hospital bed for two weeks and not being held, but, if he is awake, he wants to be in someone’s arms.

That can keep a person busy. Brooke is pretty adept at holding him while eating, or while using the other arm to play with Sydney. Surprisingly, I am not.  

He cries for three reasons:

·         He hates to get his diaper changed. Not sure if it is the cold air or he’s just too modest to be naked, but you can count on some screaming when you pull the tape on the diaper.

·         He is hungry. We all cry for food, right?

·         He has gas. And he has A LOT of gas. He doesn’t deal with it well and can’t seem to get comfortable. This necessitates me having to move him 100 different ways to keep him comfortable until the gas passes. Unlike Sydney, who was a farting machine, Tyson seems to hold a lot of gas inside. He gets the hiccups after every meal.

He also has a clogged tear duct that produces regular discharge from his eye. It has even crusted his eye shut a couple of times while he was sleeping. Imagine his terror when he can only open one eye! That’s his Indian nick name, One-Eye Tyson.

Poor kid can’t catch a break. A defective heart. Excess gas. Eye pus.

He actually has a myriad of issues that we can’t determine whether they are normal baby issues or because of his heart. He sweats, shudders, grunts and yawns a lot. One of the things they told us to look for was sweating, so we may be hyper sensitive to some of these things, but each has me concerned enough to ask the doctor.

Also, his lips blister. They look like the back of a boxed turtle. Is he dehydrated? He gets plenty of milk.

All of these questions shall be posed in the weekly cardiologist’s visit tomorrow.  

We know for sure we have had a bit of a set back with him. Doctors released him to come home with the understanding he would gain weight and be stronger for his operation. But, they warned, if he is not gaining weight, it will likely be because his heart is working too hard, which would necessitate his first heart operation, the one we thought we’d avoided.

Despite eating like a Sopranos character, he has lost a little weight since he’s been home. Now, Sydney also did when she first came home, and I understand many other babies do, too. But because of his condition, they have decided to supplement his breast milk to see if they can add on some pounds.

We’ll cross our fingers.

Other than that, life is normal. We’re living the dream. Well, actually, there is no dreaming in our house. No one ever gets to fall into that deep of a sleep. 

Blowing Through the Caution Signs

 

 



 

I have some good news, some moderate news and some bad news.

The good news is Tyson came home last night. This kid has blown through every precaution sign the doctors put in front of him. To think we went from “he will definitely need this first operation” to “he doesn’t need the operation and can go home today” in less than two weeks is amazing.

The docs felt he was at greater risk of catching some hospital-related disease the longer he stuck around the hospital, so they sent him home after only two days in the step-down unit. They had expected him to be there until next Tuesday. Heck, they had expected him to be in the CICU a lot longer, too.

The boy is tough.

And he saved me a night or two of sleeping at the hospital. They want you to spend 24-7 with them when they are in the step-down unit to prepare for when they come home. So, we had a plan that the grandmas, mom and dad would spend nights at the hospital. My wife already had the days covered and I took over after work until about 8.

The grandmas handled the first few nights. Because I have to work, I was going to take the weekends. My back was screaming in anticipation. I’m already as stiff as frozen leather from just sitting in the chair the few hours a day I am there. Sleeping there would have been painful.

I once spent a weekend in Atlanta where I walked a few miles to one of those all-day festival concerts. I then spent the day standing and listening to music. My back got so stiff and painful it wasn’t right for four months. It only loosened up after I had wisdom tooth surgery and they put me under. I’m fairly certain I would not have been able to walk after a weekend in the step-down unit.

So we have our little boy home. He is as strong as an ox and hopefully ready to grow over the next six months so he is ready for his big operation.

Now the fun begins. We get to see how Sydney reacts to a little brother. She mostly ignored him in her two visits to the hospital and again last night. I can see her trying to push him out the back door when we aren’t looking. I would not put it past her to pull an Amanda Bynes and just go off the deep end. She is used to getting all the attention.

We also get to see how the dog reacts. I say dog, because, if you remember my earlier post, Brooke has elected to send her rambunctious Murphy off for the summer. Vegas will likely take the Sydney approach and ignore him. Just another interloper stealing away daddy’s attention.

And we get to see dad get back in the groove of taking care of a tiny baby.

Basically, I suck.

In the hospital, I must have let his head fall a half-dozen times. I could never get him to be comfortable or to eat a lot. He peed on me when I changed his diaper.

I was a mess. And he knew it. I think I felt him cringe every time I was in charge. His eyes were begging the nurses not to leave him alone with me.  

I wish I could fast forward six months. I am much better when they are a little older and tougher. Right now, I’m just afraid of accidentally doing something that results in his death. Remember, I am the guy who let Sydney fall off the bed because I was engrossed in paying bills.

I’d be lost without the wife. Today, I woke up to find her sleeping with Tyson on her chest. She can even multi-task sleep. They looked so right together. If that were me, I would never be able to sleep with him on my chest and, if by some miracle I did, I would certainly somehow drop him off the bed.

To add to my apprehension, here’s my moderate news: they have told us that his heart will eventually FAIL.

Yes, his heart is not going to make it. We knew that, but I thought it would surely make it until the big operation.

Not necessarily so.

We have been given signs of heart failure to look for. If we see it, we get him to the hospital. They will then do the first operation they were hoping to avoid.

At least we will have a few days to figure it out. They say this is not a situation where we have to get him to the emergency room immediately. But we need to be on the lookout and not let it progress too much.

How am I going to know if he is having heart failure or just being a normal baby? If he turns red and cries, is he just grunting out a poop or having a heart attack??? Good Lord, no one should trust me with this kind of decision. I’m not exactly the most observant person in the world. If I had been that guy in Cleveland who noticed that kidnapped girl trying to break down that door to escape, she’d likely be there another 10 years because I wouldn’t have looked up from my lunch long enough to notice.

By the way, Charles Ramsey, tip of the cap to you. Enjoy your burgers.

The final bit of news is the bad news.

Because of his heart condition, Tyson had increased chance of genetic issues. They did a full genetic test on him and found he is missing part of Chromosome 9.

They are not really sure how this will manifest itself. It is not as easy as the chromosome issues that lead to Down’s Sydrome or even worse fates. This one is really dependent on how much of the chromosome and where it is at.

Heck, they are not even sure it is a problem. They are testing Brooke and I to see if we have the same thing. Because this is rare and very few people in this world have full genetic makeups done on themselves, it is possible there are tens of millions walking around with the same issue and it does not affect them at all.

But we do know that some of the kids with Chromosome 9 issues do have problems, such as Kleefstra Syndrome.  This results in developmental/learning delays, low muscle tone, recognizable facial features and other things commonly associated with genetic disorders.

I know we have had really good luck so far with Tyson and his condition, and this may be pushing it, but I am confident my boy is going to be ok. He has just blown us away with his resiliency and ability to overcome. I am extremely hopeful this is a spin of the wheel that will not land on his number.  

But if he is afflicted, so be it. There aren’t too many families as equipped as mine to handle it. My wife is a special education teacher who has a heart of gold. I’m a daddy who is going to be there for his son no matter what. We earn a fairly decent income to get him the things he needs.

I’m far more worried about him surviving major heart surgery than I am raising a child with disabilities.

I just want him around.

Tyson is Tougher than the Toilet Paper

The food solution the hospital is feeding Tyson costs $1,200 a day.

Yes, you read that right.

Now, I could scream that the manufacturer is doing the typical thing every medical supplier does and is raking in outrageous profits. Or, I could loudly lament how the hospital is marking it up a ridiculous amount to get its huge profit from the insurance company.

Instead, I am only going to say four words: thank God for Anthem.

I am a notorious hater of insurance companies. Have been since I was 24 and my insurance company dropped me after three accidents in a span of a couple years. All the accidents were someone else's fault. Excuse me, but I thought that was the definition of insurance? It is there when you need it.

My hatred has only grown deeper over the years as I have seen people with cancer or other serious diseases dropped from coverage while watching insurance companies rake in HUNDREDS OF BILLIONS in profits in a SINGLE year.

But today, I am only happy to be insured. They are there when I need them. In the best-case scenario, it looks like my son's first stay in the hospital will be at least three weeks in the Cardiac Intensive Care Unit. If he ends up needing that first operation, it will be worse. Then, he has a pretty major operation about six months from now.

Can you say half a million? Let's say he spends a total of 60 days in at an average cost of $5,000 a day (the going rate?). That's $300,000 right there. Throw in a couple surgeries by one of the best pediatric health surgeons in the world and you're looking at half a mill.

Thank God for Anthem.

What if I worked at Wal-Mart? Or Papa Johns? Or one of the hundreds of thousands of businesses in this nation that doesn't agree to split the cost of group (ie cheaper, because you buy it in bulk) health care with its employees?

I'd be up poop creek without a paddle. All because I didn't have my crap together coming out of high school and skipped college (or couldn't afford it), instead choosing to go to work for one of the largest corporations in America and maybe work my way up the ladder.

Thank God for health care insurance. I'll pay my deductible -- not an easy task in itself -- and go on with my life. I can't help but feel empathy for others who may be in this situation but not have the same peace of mind.

By the way, everything in this hospital is top-notch. Every doctor and nurse so far has had tremendous knowledge and bedside manner. The equipment is state-of-the-art. The facility is modern and clean. Even the cleaning folks stop and talk to you and ask how the boy is doing. It is easy to see why this is rated the third best Children's Hospital in the nation. I LOVE Cincinnati Children's Hospital Medical Center.

But about the toilet paper.

I used to work for the county, and in an attempt to save money, administrators made a decision to go to cheaper toilet paper. It is the kind that tears as you are rolling it off the spool. It disintegrates in your hand and you have to use three times as much just to ensure a good wipe. Not sure how that saves money.

When I got a new job, one of my greatest joys was saying goodbye to that toilet tissue.

Not so fast. It has returned to haunt me at Children's. I'm spending many hours bedside in the CICU. That requires an occasional trip to the bathroom. This top-notch facility in every way is letting me down on those occasions.

I have a few friends who work here. I can only hope the administration has higher quality toilet tissue.

For those who dialed in for a Tyson update and not a speech on health insurance or toilet paper, he is holding his own. They are now feeding him and are going to take a few weeks to determine if he can live with the narrowing in his aorta, since it is not as bad as they once thought. Basically, it has to be wide enough to ensure blood is distributed equally between his body and lungs. If that happens, he can go home and they will make any necessary repairs when they do the big surgery in 6-8 months.

If his body cannot handle it, they will either go in and surgically repair the narrowing or they will place a band on another part of his heart that will apply a corresponding equal restriction, thereby equalizing blood flow.

The bottom line is the kid has fought his way to best-case scenario so far. I can't begin to explain how that feels. Doctors are very happy with his progress. 

He still has a big hill to climb. I am not getting over joyed on this -- he still will have open-heart surgery where they will literally change the anatomy of his heart with a scalpel and other material. That's scary. 

But he has proven to be strong and a fighter in every way. That gives me great hope that he shall overcome. 

Thanks for all the prayers and good thoughts. 

They are working. 

Hurry Up and Wait

My son is being kept alive by a medicine called prostaglandin.

Today, they turn the medicine off.

If this experiment works, he may be able to avoid the surgery he was expected to undergo this week. If it does not work, he will get blood in his lungs and have a really difficult time breathing. Doctors will reverse their decision and he'll be bound for surgery.

It is a low-risk, high-reward gamble. Certainly, we don't want to see him any discomfort, but he is in the Cardiac Intensive Care Unit at one of the best Children's Hospitals in the world and they will be able to react quickly to signs of trouble. We should know within a couple of days to a couple of weeks if this is going to work or if he will need the surgery. We can't make the determination until a certain duct closes and we see his reaction. The closing of the duct depends on nature and is different in everyone.

This is good news. They've discovered that the narrowing of his aorta -- the coarctation -- is not as pronounced as they thought and they don't automatically need to do surgery. They're willing to try this alternative in an attempt to limit his fragile body to just one surgery, likely to take place six months or so down the line. That is a really big surgery and they want him to grow a bit and be stronger.

If this works, we might be taking him home as early as next week.

Even the good news of taking him home is a scary proposition, because we will have sole care and responsibility for an infant with a serious heart condition, but we're willing to take that on because we don't want Tyson growing up in a hospital. He's going to spend enough time here.

I wish I had more to report. There is a lot of hurry up and wait here. You get all geared up for the next step only to be told it is a lengthy process. They really want him to grow more because it will be easier to determine the problems and easier to fix them.

I also wish I had something funny to report. Not a lot of jokes and laughs in the cardiac unit. I will, however, expand on something I said in a Facebook post (and this has nothing to do with my particular situation): hug your children. Count your blessings. Quit griping about your daily problems. I've seen teenage heart transplant patients, babies who will be vegetables all their lives and kids who have to worry about taking their next breath. This place is a dose of reality and a slap in the face to what real problems are. I can't comprehend what some of these families are going through and  I have incredible respect for their strength.

Ok, enough soapbox.

In other news, we did learn that he does not have any of the more obvious genetic diseases associated with heart defects. They are conducting further testing.

Really, mostly everything has been positive. He is strong. The deformities seem to be less than expected or at least in the right places for best-case scenarios. He's far from out of the woods, but things are definitely going our way.

I've been off since Friday. I don't have a lot of time because it is a new job,  so I need to get back in. Brooke, trooper that she is, is making mega strides in recovering from the C-section. She'll do most of the monitoring for us.

We will keep you updated.

The Arrival of Tyson

No burying the lead here: Tyson came into this world strong and incident free.

I must admit I was a little surprised to see eight people standing patiently at the bassinet awaiting his arrival into the world. This was a clear indication that they were expecting complications. But he was near perfect. 

I say "near" because his heart issues did not miraculously disappear. But at least we avoided that first surgery point. And everything else about him is great! He is a strapping 7 pounds 3 ounces, has all his fingers and toes and scored well on his Apgar test.

And he has the distinct cleft chin that tells me he is mine. It is a Gregg trait that unfortunately has ensnared my children. The sunken chin gives the appearance of a scowl or dour mood. His may be more distinct than mine or Sydney's.  But I was glad to see it, because, prior to the birth, when my wife was filling out paperwork and the hospital employee asked if the baby would be the same race as her, I sensed a little hesitation in her voice when she said yes. I was sweating bullets for awhile. 

The day started out with a few complications. Emergencies pushed us back a couple of hours and forced us to switch delivery doctors. I was not happy with this. As evidenced by the eight people standing bedside for our birth,WE WERE AN EMERGENCY! I wanted the doc my wife was comfortable with. 

Also, that forced Brooke to wait a few hours on a really uncomfortable stretcher. I used to work for Hill-Rom, the largest hospital bed company in the world. It was my job to help sell our products. I know a little about these things. We were on a competitor's product and it was a piece of crap. Right across the aisle was a Hill-Rom maternity stretcher. I so wanted to pull a switcheroo. 

I expressed my displeasure about the stretcher on Facebook. Shortly after we delivered, I got a call from Good Sam's corporate offices wanting "to hear about my recent dissatisfaction with a stay my wife had at the hospital." Now I don't know if that call was prompted by the Facebook post or a comment I made to the nurse about not being happy with the doctor switch, but that was impressive. We were barely out of the delivery room when that call came! I politely told the guy I wasn't looking to get anyone in trouble and backed out of the call. 

They just saved my kid's life; I wasn't going to ruin someone's annual evaluation. 

The delivery went well. No bloody noses for me. My wife was an absolute trooper. I tried to tell her a few jokes to keep her mind off the fact they were carving up her belly like a side of beef at a slaughterhouse, but she seemed in a good mood anyway. 

In an attempt to get a picture of Tyson, I did make the mistake of looking on the other side of the curtain, if only for a brief second. My advice to prospective fathers: NEVER, EVER do this. 

After birth, the little guy was taken to neonatal intensive care, where they hooked up the lines for his medicine. I went with, while Brooke went to recovery. When I got there, they told me to take off all my scrubs. About five minutes after that, they told me what they were doing required a sterile environment and I would have to leave. Well why the hell did you tell me to take off my scrubs?

After they hooked him up, they brought him to see his parents and grandparents. Sadly, we only got about ten minutes with him. The whole time, he was in this specially designed transport vehicle that looked like a souped-up incubator. It was actually kind of cool. He also had his own four-person transport team for the trip, which was only a couple of miles. 

Once he got to Children's Hospital, it took them a few hours to get him situated. They kept me out during this time, which worried me, but once I got in, they advised me he was doing good and everything was fine. 

Then the big news: the echocardiogram. It revealed exactly what we expected. He's got a narrowing on the aorta -- a coarctation -- and the Double Outlet Right Ventricle. He will need surgery next week on the coarctation and they will decide Tuesday whether they open him up and do the while kit and kaboodle. I think things depend on where these deformities are located, which also determines severity. We are eagerly awaiting the big Tuesday pow wow so we know our plan. 

Until then, I will stay with him here at the hospital. His mom is trying to get a pass from the other hospital to come over. I pity the fool doctor who stands in her way. We are even going to bring wild woman Sydney to see her little brother today. That should be an adventure. 

So here is what I can tell you: despite the chin, my boy looks to be a handsome young fellow. He is healthy outside of the heart and even looks a little strapping, like he might some day be an offensive tackle. He may need that weight, because he doesn't get to eat for awhile. 

He is much loved by his parents, grandparents, extended family and community -- all of you. If prayers and good thoughts count, he will get through this.