Mission Impossible

One of the things you worry about most as a parent is what your kids are eating. Or not eating. Or eating too much of. Or not enough of!

My worry about all of this started when my oldest was about 3.5 months old and was diagnosed with a protein allergy. He started having bloody diapers and was really cranky and so we brought him in to a pediatric GI doctor. Since the doctor wasn't sure what was causing this, he put me (since I was a nursing mama) on what I dubbed the "prisoner's diet." The three biggest allergens for kids are dairy, meat and soy. So, I could eat nothing that had dairy, meat or soy in it. Well, that's pretty much everything. We worry about not getting enough soy. Really people, soy is in EVERYTHING! Even licorice! So I ate whole wheat bread with fake butter and honey, vegetable soup, rice and hot tamales. Yuck. I tried to eat this way for about a week, lost 7 pounds, and gave up. Not only that but Gabe's diapers weren't getting any better, and neither was he.

So, after a colonoscopy for him and a definitive diagnosis of a protein allergy, we started him on formula. Not just any formula, the most expensive one you could buy. It was called alimentum and it was $25 for a small can. So we spent upwards of $200 every month on formula. But it had to be one where the proteins were already broken down for him or he would continue to be anemic. Easy choice. And he was on that formula for 15 months until we could gradually start introducing protein and dairy and soy into his diet.

To look at him now, you would never guess he started out as a skinny little anemic baby. He's 47" tall and 54 pounds at 5 years old. He's got little love handles and he is solid. Very soon there will come a day when I won't be able to lift him!

But last fall, I still worried about him. My mom was diagnosed with celiac which is an allergy to wheat. Those with celiac have to follow a very strict gluten free diet or have a recurrence of symptoms. While checking this out about my mom, I saw symptoms for children and Gabe had 4 of the 5 of them. Pale skin, distended abdomen, tummy aches, and large malodorous stools. The only one he didn't exhibit was failure to grow.

Back to the pediatric GI doc we went. They ran some blood tests, which were negative. And had to do some stool samples. Here's where the Mission Impossible comes in. Go ahead, sing the song in your head. I know I did. At the clinic they gave me a big orange bag with a stool collection kit and instructions in it. I couldn't believe it when I got home and read it. "Once a stool is collected, the sample must be to the lab in 30 minutes or the test will not read accurately." THIRTY MINUTES? ARE YOU KIDDING ME?

I've got a 9 month old, a 2.5 year old, a 4.5 year old, and a 10 minute drive to the clinic! Okay, deep breath, I can do this. And so I readied myself. And waited. And waited. I waited for three days for Gabe to, well, you know, give me a sample! And when that sample happened, Lyndee and Ben were sleeping, it was snowing, I was packing and we were getting ready to leave on a weekend get away!

Here we go. Plop, plop. Sample secure. Put sleeping Ben in his car seat. No coats today kids, no time. Sweatshirts are fine, we're using the subway anyway. Wake up baby. Change quick diaper. No shoes necessary, you can't walk anyway. 27 minutes to go.

Get Gabe in the car, grab diaper bag with snacks, bottle, sippy cups. Walk out front door. Walk back in, put on my own shoes. Buckle myself in, back out of driveway, look in rear view mirror, drive back in driveway, open up garage door, open up back of van, place double stroller in back of van. 19 minutes to go.

Drive (within posted speed limits) to clinic, drive to parking ramp, "please take the ticket," drive in, find a parking space. Open up back of van, get out double stroller. Wake up Ben, put him in stroller with sippy cup, get out baby, put her in stroller with bottle. Get out Gabe, close van doors, lock van, go to elevator. 9 minutes to go.

Take elevator to subway level. Go ahead, keep singing the song! 7 minutes.

Pause briefly in subway lobby to admire Medusa like art hanging from the main floor ceiling. Take a right past Gonda Building elevators and Mayo elevators. Pause briefly to listen to volunteer playing piano music. 5 minutes.

Tell Gabe to hurry up, glance down to make sure I have bright orange bag, panic, move diaper bag, relax again. 3 minutes.

Pull Gabe along as he insists on jumping over every decorative carpet band ("swamp") that occur every 20 feet. Arrive at lab desk, panting, sweating, Medusa looking myself, at 29 minutes. Whew! I did it!

I hand it to the lab attendant who asks. "How long ago was this sample taken?"

"Thirty minutes ago," I proudly say.

"Wow, it takes most people 45!" She says admiringly.

I mentally pat myself on the back and use the hand sanitizer so graciously provided by the clinic.
"Have a nice day," I say as a saunter away. We go in to the subway coffee shop where we sit for just a few minutes where I leisurely sip my Diet Coke as I watch a woman with a single stroller dragging along her toddler carrying a bright orange bag. "Ha, I had a double stroller," I think to myself. "I got you beat!"

(And by the way, good results! No celiac for the Gman. And his belly's getting smaller. It must be those sit ups his daddy taught him!)