We go to San Francisco to fix Maia's ear

On Monday, we had met with Dr. Brent. He had taken a liking to Maia--called her a "cutey-pie" and a "pistol." He had made a tracing of her right ear for the cartilage form he intended to carve from cartilage form her rib. He flipped it from side to side, showing her how the tracing of the right ear could be for the left ear, too. Then he had put it in his wallet. "Do you know why I put it in my wallet?" he asked. "So you won't lose it?" Maia said. "Good answer," he replied, surprised, I think, that Maia had one.

That night, Maia had been excited and restless. "I want to tell you something," she had said to me in bed. "Do you know it's going to be very early tomorrow?" We were due at the hospital at 6:30am. "Yes, Sweetie," I said.


The operation was today.

Everything went like clock work in the morning. They moved us from the waiting room to the pre-op room at a little after 6:30. They gave her some kind of cocktail of sedatives there that soon had her nodding off.



Dr. Brent stopped by on his way to surgery.



He asked Maia if she was ready, and she said, "Yes." He is really a remarkable person. There is a lot of love for children in him--it's just part of his nature. Unusual for such talent to be wedded to such idealism (he could make a lot more money at this than he does) and genuine love for people. Ask any of the parents of the children he has helped, and they would give you the same reaction.



After Maia began to nod off, we each gave her a kiss and were led back to the waiting room. That was at about 7 am.

At about 10 am, they told us that it was over, and she was being taken to the recovery room.

Before she had come to, Dr. Brent came by to tell us everything had gone perfectly. He showed us a couple of pics--one of the cartilage form he had inserted at her ear and the next of the form in place.



About 20 minutes after that, they let us in to see Maia. She was still asleep--though that's probably not the right word. She came out of it slowly. But within a couple of hours she was off her gurney, sitting in a chair, and telling me that she wanted food.

We saw another family there. There are three parts to this operation and their daughter was on her third.

"She will be happy," the mother told me.

The last thing Maia asked when I left (Kristina stayed to watch her that night) was when her bandage could come off. She's anxious to see it.




John, Monday, June 9, 2009