Number 2 Son

I have on occasion written extensively about my older son, Max, who is seven years old. Today, however, I want to focus on my younger son, Elijah, who is four and a half.

From birth, Eli has been, to be blunt, a significantly challenging boy. The obstetricians had warned that, based on their measurements in ultrasounds, he would be born at about 4 1/2 pounds. Since Lisa had delivered Max via C-section, she would deliver Eli the same way. Well, they made an incision for a four-pound baby, but Eli turned out to be bigger, and the doctors struggled to get him out. I remember seeing Lisa's body, numbed by the epidural, being jostled around and practically being lifted up off the operating table as they worked Eli out. Weight at birth? Six pounds. Already doing things his own way.

He had jaundice at birth and had to spend three days under the bilirubin lights. Then he had colic for the first four months, and God help me, the stress of dealing with that child really got to me. I had every unmentionable thought the father of a challenging newborn could have, and then some. I told Lisa at one unguarded and stressed-to-the-max moment that I hated this kid. Not really, of course, I loved him, but I was really having difficulty connecting with him. He was this crying, shitting, and screaming mass of "no fucking way!"

After the colicky stage, Eli seemed to settle into a routine of pleasantness. Looking back at pictures and video of that time, he was smiling and laughing a lot, particularly at his older brother, who had a knack for knowing what Eli found funny. He was also one tough cookie. We have video of him sitting on the floor in front of Max, lunging for him as if to wrestle Max to the ground.

As Eli has grown, he has proven to be incredibly bright and sunny. And extremely willful. His disobedient stripe is a mile wide. His insistence on doing everything himself is unyielding, and his unwillingness to break from his routines around food and activities is unshakeable at times.

I always thought that such a defiant streak would actually alienate rather than endear him to friends. Well, he has his friends, and he is actually very open and warm with them, not insistent on leading, not bullying, and always engaging with them with ideas on what to do, but never insistent on it. With us, particularly around food, potty training, and bedtime, he fought us on everything. He has also lately been fibbing a bit, not because he really wants to deceive, but mostly because he just wants to get his way.

Funny, but I never thought this aspect of his toughness and resolve would serve him very well.

I was wrong.

Since birth, Eli has had a cyst in the middle of his neck, right on top of his Adam's Apple. He had not a few ear infections, and he has always had large lymph nodes in his neck as well, so we thought all of this was related to the ear infections. The doctors asked us to watch them to see that they didn't grow too big. Well, in the past year it grew fairly large, about the size of a marble. The pediatric ENT we met thought that perhaps Eli had something called a thyroglossal duct cyst. These cysts have a way of coming back after they're removed, so the best way to remove them is to also take a piece of the hyoid bone, which is the anchor bone for the muscles of the floor of the mouth and the tongue, and part of the base of the tongue itself. We're talking millimeters of tissue, so it's not like Eli would be this inarticulate person afterward. However, this was a daunting procedure which would last about two or three hours and require an overnight hospital stay and a week of recovery.

His surgery was just yesterday. We had to get him to Ronald Reagan UCLA Hospital at 4:30 am. Lisa and I woke him up about 20 minutes ahead of time. This was one of the only times in his short life that he has not woken us up first. We dressed him and made the short trip up to Westwood and admitted him. And then we waited. And waited. We broke out the portable DVD player some friends had loaned us and popped in Finding Nemo. Finally, we got to see a nurse at about 6:00 am, who took his blood pressure and other vitals. Eli was most cooperative. He was also pretty tired so that helped. At about 7:00 the surgeon came in and said hello and talked to Eli. He'd already met her and he was totally at ease, but then came about half a dozen other doctors, including residents and students, anesthesiologists, and the like. This is where things got a little scary for Eli. Lots of new faces. I could see in his eyes that he was finally feeling the fear.

We had told him during the weeks leading up to this day that the doctors would give him something to make him sleepy so that he could sleep all through the operation. A doctor came in with a little sip of what we called "silly juice," and this sent Eli over the edge. He'd had the stuff when he went to the dentist last year. The stuff tastes like crap and he knows it. Since he really needs to control his food environment, he pitched a total fit as we tried to get him to take this stuff. We had to hold him down, and he did swallow it, but there was a lot of gagging afterwards. He had some left in his mouth and he spit it out, and he even refused to swallow any saliva after that because it tasted like the medicine.

The medicine did the trick, and before long he was as high as a kite, acting loopy and getting more tired by the minute. At about 7:30 they started to wheel him in and we had to leave him. We made our way downstairs to the waiting room...

At 9:15 the surgeon called down to say she was done, that the cyst was dermoid in nature and came out much more easily. No bone removal, no tongue excision. He would not have to stay overnight after all. We were very relieved to say the least.

In the recovery room, Eli woke up very quickly, but was zonked. He slept lightly until they wheeled him back into a pre-op bed. He slept a little there, but was very active from the start. He had to urinate, eat and drink, which he did like a champ. We got home at 2:30, nearly 10 hours after we arrived.

He spent the rest of the day lounging in front of the TV, eating Cheerios (my friend Steve would appreciate that), and slept all night long. He didn't complain of any pain, but we figured that the anesthesia was still working in him and that he'd start to feel some discomfort today.

Uh, yeah right.

Eli has already returned to his usual self. He's turning cartwheels, getting dirty, and playing baseball in the backyard. No pain, no discomfort, and no sore throat issues. What kind of human being is this who doesn't feel any pain after someone's taken a scalpel to his throat? Today I had visions of him as a Mixed Martials Arts fighter, kicking the shit out of his opponents and laughing when they hit him.

It amazes me how resilient this child is. I'm damn proud of him, love him to bits, and treasure each hug, each kiss, and each "I love you, Daddy" (even the ones where I know he wants something from me).