Cath Report #2

A few pre-procedure bubbles while we wait to talk to the docs.
Fact: Only babies can make hospital gowns look this cute.

The updates have been few and far between today--I wish I could say I'm sorry, but it would be a lie. We were so busy getting Mac feeling like himself again today and listening to our discharge orders--that's right, we're home!--who had time to post?

The procedure took about two hours and we met with the doc afterward to see some amazing inside pics of our little brave heart. The good news is that everything looked just about perfect--the graft into his pulmonary artery has held its shape, there are no problems with pressures, his aorta or anything that would indicate major problems to come. The only thing the doc could find that might be causing McKay to have oxygen saturations lower than they would like is one large collateral vein.

You can see the nasty renegade in the picture below. The picture is of McKay's chest. The dark line that descends from the top of the picture is the cath. You can follow it until it snakes into a thicker, larger mass--that's the collateral vein that was diverting blood from McKay's lungs. (The twist-tie looking lassos in the middle are the ties that hold his little sternum together and are the result of a previous surgery.)

Okay, are you ready for this? Here is what the same chest shot looks like after they insert a tiny metal coil into the collateral vein. They literally just stuff the piece of metal (which looks entirely like it belongs in a Cup of Soup to me) into the vein until they create sufficient blockage to obstruct flow. Over the next few weeks and months, the metal then attracts the blood to clot around it and form a dam which effectively blocks and shuts down the vessel. Here's the coil:

I know, it makes my skin crawl a little, too. But you have to admit it's pretty amazing medicine.

You know what's even more amazing? A 10-month old who sat before me today with pressure bandages on his neck and thigh, two IVs in his left hand and foot, a cluster of blood blisters where they carelessly removed a taped-down drape cloth after the procedure, whose one free hand still felt as soft as silk and who tried and succeeded in mustering a smile of encouragement for me.

We have to wait a while to see if today's new hardware will be the answer to finding rosier days for Mr. McKay. About a month actually. That's how long it will take the body to react to the coil and reroute blood flow--we hope--through his pulmonary artery and into his lungs this time.

So we wait. And hope. And pray. And leave it up to God and the tiny tank of a miracle we see in our Mac. He is the very epitome of resilience.