Parents aren’t the only group of people who get wrapped up in the written word and hold it gospel. Doctors are just as guilty, yet their vice comes in the form of a textbook.

In my first entry I promised glimpses into the journey with my son (in all fairness - my husband’s journey too). As many parents do, I prayed for a healthy child. One with ten fingers, ten toes and all faculties intact. I also, however, strayed from the pack of parents that remained neutral on gender. You know the type I’m referring to – “Oh, I don’t care what I’m having, as long as the baby is healthy.” I was different – I did care. I made my feelings known that a boy was my preference. Did this partiality affect my son’s health? Did I make my avid position on “boy vs. girl” more prominent than “health”? I’m smarter than that and know that God is not vindictive, but my guilt remains unbroken. (More on that in an upcoming entry).

When M. was born he stayed in my arms for about three minutes before he was whisked away to x-ray. His shoulder became stuck during labor and they feared that his collar bone may be broken. (I should also point out here that I had to first wait for the doctor to resuscitate my son before I even got those three minutes, but those are not details I want to relive for the sake of this entry.) Turns out his collar bone did not break, but he did spend his first seven days of life on antibiotics due to an infection.

If those had been the only bumps along the way, I would have considered myself lucky. Little did I know, however, that this was just the beginning.

For four weeks M. couldn’t keep anything down. He made his inability to process milk known through exorcist like vomiting that shot so far he would reach the wall from his crib. That is not an exaggeration for the purposes of illustration – he literally could reach the wall from his crib, two feet away. I spent many hours on the phone with our very patient, empathetic pediatrician (whom I adore). We switched formulas four times, including breast milk, and always ended up with the same conclusion – it just wasn’t working. We ultimately decided that seeing a Pediatric Gastroenterologist was beneficial. The only problem was that this was early November and the earliest appointment was late December. I took matters into my own hands…

If I couldn’t get in to see a specialist, I thought I would try my luck at the Emergency Department. After all, wouldn’t they be able to tell me what’s wrong? Wouldn’t they be able to run tests to determine the source of M.’s pain? One would think.

After the typical “rigamaroo” and red tape, a “doctor” walked into our room, clipboard and stethoscope in tow. Didn’t you know that all you need is a clipboard and stethoscope with no apparent knowledge about medicine to be considered a doctor? Apparently, that’s the criteria, but I digress.

I explained M.’s symptoms in detail. The doctor, without looking up from his clipboard or touching my son, said to me, “You’re son has colic. Do you know what colic is? Colic is when otherwise healthy babies who continue to gain weight cry without cause. Nobody knows why babies get it, but he’ll outgrow it in three months.”

This, my friends, is a case of “the textbook says, so it must be true.”

I cried all the way home because I felt like I just failed my son. He couldn’t speak and it was my job to be his voice, yet, I wasn’t vocal enough. I decided from that moment on I would never again let a doctor dismiss me so easily. Little did I know that I would have my chance sooner than I thought.

Ten days later (with a few doctors’ visits in between), M’s condition worsened. He was lethargic, his eyes were sunken in and he was no longer producing dirty diapers. I called the closest radiologist office and told them we would be there within the hour. The woman on the receiving end explained that the office didn’t like kinks in their schedule. (Insert my very colorful response).

An hour later, as promised, I walked up to the receptionist’s desk as if I was there for my scheduled appointment. To my surprise, the doctor was willing to see M. So, after two hours of waiting, testing and results, we were heading home to pack a bag for emergency surgery….and guess where that was…the same hospital that turned us away ten days prior.

M. was diagnosed with Pyloric Stenosis. A condition that is, although fairly common in first born white males with O+ blood and simple to correct, very serious. His pylorus muscle, which connects the stomach to the intestine, was narrowed. For six weeks my son was not receiving nutrition and was extremely dehydrated.

When we arrived at the ER I expected a full apology. Guess what I got instead? Excuses, explanations and this memorable comment, “Don’t be so worried, Pyloric Stenosis doesn’t cause pain”.

Every doctor, resident and student (yes, this is a teaching hospital….scary, I know) said the same thing. “How can he have PS, he’s been gaining weight?” One doctor went as far as to say, “Even with the x-ray films I’m skeptical.”

According to the textbooks, one must be losing weight in order to have Pyloric Stenosis. My son was gaining, albeit at a slow rate, but still gaining.

The doctors went forward with M.’s surgery the following morning. He did, in fact, have this condition and made a full recovery. I am the one that remains scathed.

And so, my point is that we aren’t the only ones, us parents, that get wrapped up in “the book says”. Unfortunately, though, no matter who we are, parents, doctors or both, we do ourselves a disservice when we don’t trust our gut. Remember this – trust your thoughts. The words you have read in your books were just thoughts too before they were put to paper. Just because you aren’t published doesn’t mean you don’t know what you’re talking about. And make sure you tell your doctor that.

Until next time,
"My Way" Mom

Disclaimer: Information posted is not meant to replace advice given by your doctor. It is for entertainment purposes only.