Thursday, October 18, 2007
Rearing My Child
So, remember the last time we discussed poop? My mom informed me in an anonymous comment that "this was not the venue for such discussions".
Sorry, mom. But here's the thing...
Sophie is smack-dab in the middle of yet another Poop Strike, and this is the only venue I have through which to vent such frustrations and seek advice. Plus, since I have been CEO of Poop Management for the past two weeks (three years and two weeks), I have nothing else to talk about. My life is, in fact, all about poop.
Part of Soph's issues, in combination with the Rocket Vomit and feeding aversions, involve delayed gastric emptying and constipation. Yes, pile those two things on top of the very large heap of warped body issues and there you have it: Sophie's funked out digestive system. It's all nice and cleverly disguised behind cute chipmonk cheeks, crazy curly locks, and a magnetic personality. But it's there. The truth. Poor child, her innards aren't as cute and cuddly as her outside.
Right now I'm spending my days syringing warm pear juice, and prune juice, and water, along with administering her Mirilax and "toot makers" (the term coined by Sophs for glycerin suppositories). And even though the poop is soft (we won't get into how I know that), since she has no peristalsis, it all just stays in there - stuck. She's the master at holding it in. As I said before, I have no idea why anyone would want to do that. But as I'm sure you know, some people are just odd. Their talents aren't explainable.
Sophie has pooped once in the past two weeks. Yep. Once. Her stomach is distended and hard as a tick most of the time. She looks a bit like a pregnant three-year old. And you know it has to hurt like heck. I've even been doing intestinal massage and the oh so pleasant "rectal stimulation" thing throughout the day...to no avail.
This is the moment in the post where I pause to state the obvious...
If she doesn't poop soon, we'll have to go to the ER for an enema and bowel cleansing. Because cousin to What-Goes-Up-Must-Come-Down is this little proverbial jewel: What goes in, must come out.
And that will be sooooo very pleasant. For all involved. But mostly for the one with the hose up her butt.
Sophie is tough as nails. She always has been. You can stick a four inch needle in her hand and she won't bat an eye (right, Dr. Johnson?). But you so much as get near her rear (ooo, rhyming!) and she's ready to fight. Dirty fighting. She turns into an enraged bucking, thrashing, rolling, screaming, biting wilderbeast. I've sustained a black eye and almost lost several teeth trying to do what is best of her and tend to her poop issues. Which usually makes me want to pinch her cute little head off. I mean, like I want to have my finger up her rear! Plus, since our insurance pretty much stinks, a visit to the ER for an enema would be a very expensive enema, indeed. Nothing like a $1000 enema to make you feel all alive and tingly!
Tonight when Russ gets home, and can hold the little Toot down, we're going to try another suppository and some Milk of Magnesia to try and produce some stimulating action. Typically, m.o.m. results in a Puke Fest, so that'll be neat as well.
Woo hoo! An evening of super fun festivities. What are you guys doing tonight?!
So, there you go. Not really Fun Blog Kristy. But sometimes a girl has to say it like it is. Here's hoping everyone made it past "rectal stimulation" without throwing up. Your prayers for sweet Sophs would be greatly appreciated. As would any suggestions, like "A pinch of cinnamon in my coffee gets me going every time!" I know most people are probably hesitant to reveal their Poop Tricks, but if you're not shy about such matters, please chime in (you can always email me privately). At this point we're open to trying most anything. I mean, really, once you've spent the day with your pinky finger up your child's rear end, everything else is easy-peasy.
Not totally sure what Sophs is trying to express in this picture. But she seems to be shifting the blame to her father. Now there's a new theory I hadn't considered: It's him, Mama. Daddy is the root cause of all issues. Including the poop ones. ...Ah. It's all becoming clear. And Russ does look a tad guilty. Maybe he's been force-feeding her giant blocks of cheddar cheese when I wasn't looking. Hee.