Jonny McCambridge: The hospital operation which showed the scaredy cat is the bravest of us all

I am lying on the sofa when I hear a scream coming from my son in the bathroom.
Watch more of our videos on Shots! 
and live on Freeview channel 276
Visit Shots! now

Before the piercing call has concluded, I am halfway up the stairs and moving at a rate more rapid than is probably wise for my corpulent frame.

“What’s wrong son? What’s wrong?”

I burst into the room to find my boy standing in a corner and pointing at a small spider on the floor. Once I have recovered my poise, I put the arachnid outside.

On the mend: The results of the operationOn the mend: The results of the operation
On the mend: The results of the operation
Hide Ad
Hide Ad

Later, I am discussing the incident with my wife and we concur fondly that our son is a 'scaredy cat'. It is a conclusion deduced from the fact that he seems to be afraid of much of the world around him - afraid of the dark, afraid of riding his bike, often afraid of trying anything new. Afraid of the richness of his own imagination and the possibilities it creates.

But we also agree that over the years he has made remarkable progression. Like all seemingly insurmountable problems, you succeed by chipping away at it a little day by day. Indeed, there have been multiple occasions, often around health issues, when his courage has shone through.

There was the time when he was an infant and ended up in hospital after suffering a seizure. His resulting treatment included having a large needle inserted into his head and undergoing a painful lumbar puncture. A couple of years later he returned to hospital for an operation on his ears and was sitting up in bed happily munching toast barely an hour after the procedure had concluded.

Perhaps, most terrifying of all was the occasion when he found a small lump on the back of his neck, like a wound that hadn't healed properly. We monitored the spot for a couple of weeks, but the condition seemed to be worsening, rather than improving. It was often bloody and looked painful.

Hide Ad
Hide Ad

We took him to the GP who referred my son to a specialist. The consultant identified the lump as a granuloma. We were told that while the growth was most likely benign, it would need to be surgically removed and tested.

We arrived at the children's hospital. The doctor who was due to carry out the surgery was kind and full of empathy. He was also surprised by a referral for a procedure to be carried out under local anaesthetic on a child who was so young. He told us that a general anaesthetic would be more normal for a child. The logic being, presumably, that you're not quite sure how such a young boy would react to being awake while something is being cut off his body.

At one point the doctor disappeared briefly to talk to one of his colleagues. The discussion, I surmised, was him raising the possibility that he might need some assistance because of the age of our boy.

Then he told us about the small risks involved and my wife signed the consent forms. My son had been quiet up to this point. I put this down to some natural fear on his part.

Hide Ad
Hide Ad

We were then taken to another room and my son was asked to sit on a bed. I had brought along his tablet to distract him and he played happily on it while the operation began.

I watched as the doctor twice inserted a needle, containing anaesthetic, into my son's neck. He didn't make a sound, but I noticed a little tightening of his features. But when my wife and I asked him if it was sore, he simply smiled.

“It's ok mummy and daddy, it doesn't hurt.”

He continued playing his game while the doctor worked at the back of his neck with a scalpel, first cutting off the growth and then scraping away several further layers of skin.

Undoubtedly the anaesthetic had deadened most of the pain but, it might be assumed, the very process of feeling a knife cut into your neck may be enough to cause alarm and fear. My son didn't move or demonstrate the slightest hint of worry.

Hide Ad
Hide Ad

At this point the other consultant entered the room to ask if help was needed. Our doctor smiled and pointed to my son.

"Look at him. We're just fine here.”

Finally, the wound had to be cauterised, so a glowing stick was held against my son's neck to seal the wound with burning heat. Again, he didn't move a muscle.

Afterwards the nurses and doctor were effusive in their praise for our little boy. The doctor then told us he was the youngest child he had ever carried out such an operation on using local anaesthetic. He said we were lucky to have such a brave son.

Then we went to buy a toy and get a McDonald's. As my son munched chips and played with his new action figures, I kept asking him why he hadn’t been afraid? He looked at me, shrugged his shoulders, and went back to the Happy Meal.

Hide Ad
Hide Ad

Later that night both my wife and I were exhausted because we had exerted so much mental energy on the day. There was the worry about the operation, but a much greater worry about how our son would cope with the ordeal. As it turned out, he was the only one who was not a scaredy cat.

As I lay unable to sleep in bed that night, I tried to make sense of it all. How could this be the same boy who howls in fear when mummy goes to cut his toenails? Had he merely been putting on a brave face or was he genuinely immune to any concern about having a knife inserted into his neck?

What is clear though is that courage can be measured in many different ways. No doubt there will be further occasions when my son scares himself by inventing one of his spooky stories or when he sees a spider.

But when it really mattered, he was the bravest of us all.

Related topics: