What a Feeling

Unfortunately not the Irene Cara/Flashdance kind of feeling. . . Today was probably one of the worst days I've ever had. Aside from physical pain endured, this was the worst pain I've ever felt. I take that back - I'd rather endure physical pain than go through this kind of pain again. Yet, I know this is the first of many such instances.

Curiosity piqued, yet?! Well, it all started with a dangerous little website called WebMD. I am a recovering WebMD addict. Not really. I'm not recovering at all. I'm a hypochondriac with an internet connection! Why was I exploring WebMD, you ask? Two words: baby spit-up. (Does that count as three?) Cora has been so fussy lately, and I noticed the quality of her spit-up had changed. (Shane, if you are reading this please skip the next sentence.) It was much less cute and babyish and more chunky and bile-filled. So, tipped off by many more knowledgeable moms, I looked up acid reflux in babies. Of course, I was able to check mark all of the symptoms. Diagnosis all but physician guaranteed, I breathed a sigh of relief and made a mental note to talk to Dr. Mitchell about it at her 2 month appointment.

This morning was when it all went down hill. Cora had been unusually fussy all night, but at her feeding this morning, she was inconsolable. Nothing would help her to stop crying, not even feeding. If you know my daughter at all, she doesn't like to miss a feeding - see previous post. So, over the cries of an ailing little girl, I decided to call the doctor. Jackpot! Dr. Mitchell can see her today. I just knew that we would go in, get examined, and leave happy with prescription in hand.

When we arrived at the doctor's office, we were made to wait in the sick waiting room. While I'm all in favor of separating sick children from the children who are only there for well-checks, I felt a little like I had a scarlet letter. "Here you go ma'am. You can wait in here. . ." As if on cue, Cora started screaming her poor little head off. Meanwhile, all the happy babies and children file into the well waiting room across the hall. I, however, fumble to get Cora out of the car seat so I can begin the bouncing/shooshing ritual while all the other parents watch and judge me. (Actually, I'm sure they were all very sympathetic to me. It just feels like you are being judged when you are a first time mom.) After what seems like an eternity, we are called back to the exam room. We got through the rigmarole with the nurse, and then continue our bouncing and shooshing. (In the back of my mind, I wonder how many calories per hour I'm burning. Surely I've lost five more of those pesky pregnancy pounds by now!)

Toward the end of my fussy baby workout, Dr. Mitchell comes in. More poking; more prodding; more questions for mom, when Hallelujah! we have spit up, nice - chunky, bile filled spit up! While Cora fussed her poor little head off, secretly, I rejoice a little to the sounds of the Hallelujah Chorus playing in my head. Just give us our prescription, and we'll be on our merry little way!

"Yes, I see the problem." says Dr. Mitchell. "We're going to need to have this imaged." Cue the sound of a record scratching to a stop. Apparently, we will not be on our merry little way right now. "I'll have the nurse come in and set up the appointment. Oh, and don't breastfeed her in case the appointment is right away." I'm sure that's when all the color drained out of my face. Breastfeeding is my go to baby-calming device. Back to bouncing/shooshing and waiting.

In walks the nurse to find out when Cora ate last. "She can't have any food for four hours before the procedure," says the nurse. If the record in my head hadn't already scratched to a stop, it would have most definitely screeched to a stop at that horrible news. Cora is already giving my arm a nice red hunger hickey; she won't stand not being fed for much longer. I begin to panic at the prospect of keeping her happy for another 2 and a half hours. Nevertheless, I want her to feel better, so I accept the appointment. I casually ask before we leave if we will be able to get a prescription immediately following the imaging. (By casually, I mean in a fit of blind hysteria!) "Oh, no," the nurse replied. "It will be Monday before Dr. Mitchell can look at them." Suddenly, the prospect of the next few hours of crying is nothing compared to the entire weekend of it. At this point, I make three snap decisions. 1) Buying a replacement pacifier is imperative. 2) I deserve something delicious for lunch because of all this stress. Forget the diet! 3) We'll go back to Lifeway - they are acclimated to Cora's crying. . . (See post "The Kindness of Strangers.")

Before executing my snap decisions, I called John to let him know what is going on. Two things to keep in mind: I'm not very articulate when I'm blubbering/crying. Also, make sure you know the name of the exact procedure before you tell people. I told John that she needed her esophagus scoped, and I asked him to call his mom and find out what her neighbors gave to their daughter for acid reflux. (Note: Cora was only having imaging done, not a scope. Imaging=relatively easy and painless; Scope=nightmare for child and mom.) Also note that it is now that I realize my phone is almost dead, so I turn it off.

I am so thankful for every moment that Cora slept. She slept through most of the time it took me to order and eat lunch - a small miracle considering I ate at Chipotle and it was incredibly loud! When she woke up, we headed for Lifeway. At least they are familiar with us. Bounce and shoosh; bounce and shoosh. After what seemed to be ages, it was time to head over to the medical offices by the children's hospital for our appointment. Blessedly, Cora falls asleep in the car while I try not to panic about her being put under anesthesia. Again, I highly suggest you pay close attention to the procedure the doctor mentions!

When we got to the doctor's office, I went to the receptionist to check in. She handed me a bunch of papers to fill out and a note saying I needed to call John. Remember, my phone was dead. I am amazed at how John was able to track me down with little to no information about where we were going. I call John, fill out paper work and rock the stroller at the same time. Yia Yia is on the way, he tells me. "But I'm already here!" I tell him almost tearfully. But, God provides. She had been in a town just a half an hour away when he called. She was almost to there. And, John informs me, Cora will only be having X-ray imaging not any kind of difficult procedure.

The procedure was relatively painless. We went back into an exam room with a large X-ray machine. I had to undress Cora and put her in a hospital gown. Either they don't make gowns for babies, or they only had gowns that were the size of a 5 year old, but I obliged the technician and draped my child in the huge gown. Cora was screaming her little head off when she actually stopped, smiled at me and giggled! Can you believe it?! In the middle of this horrible day with hunger pangs driving her crazy, she giggled! I was so excited until I realized that now I will have to look up bipolar disorder in infants on WebMD when we get home. . .

At this point they are strapping my poor baby to a movable board and mixing up a barium solution to feed her. I inform them oh-so knowledgeably that my daughter doesn't take bottles very well. "You'd be surprised what a kid will take when she's hungry," I am informed. (Of course, they were right! She gulped the solution down!) And, sure enough, during the imaging, you could see it rising up her little throat. At this point, there are two things to be thankful for: the procedure is over, my suspicions confirmed; I can feed her again.

As we head to our car, Yia Yia pulls up to the parking lot. As I spill my guts and a few tears about the day, she suggests that I call the doctor's office back and see if I can get some meds just to tide Cora over. Blessedly, I am informed that Dr. Mitchell will see the film today, and we will get medicine. What a relief! I felt like such a burden was lifted.

So, to end this very long story, here are the things I have learned:
1. Don't wait until an issue gets really bad before calling the doctor. I no longer care if she thinks I'm an overprotective first time mom.

2. Listen to what the doctor says in order to prevent a world of panic!

3. Don't be afraid to advocate for your child. Get what you need to help your child!

4. And, perhaps the most important of all, infant medicine should not be peppermint flavored! (Although, it does make her urine smell like candy. . . )