Sunday, July 23, 2017

Going to Kindergarten -- With Life Threatening Food Allergies

Well, here we are. And here I am -- pouring my thoughts and heart onto a screen, in the hopes that it helps to settle the storm brewing within. And maybe along the way it'll help someone else out there, too.

This is it. Elias starts Kindergarten next week. I knew this day was coming. It's been in the back of my mind for months. And now the time has come. I have to let go, y'all.

I remember dropping off my anxiety-prone Asher at Kindergarten the first day, his tears flowing. Mine flowing in the parking lot for a good 20 minutes before I could drive off. I remember thinking, I am leaving my child in the hands of strangers, in a new, big place and just trusting it'll be ok.

This time, I'm the one that's anxiety-prone. And this time, my child has life-threatening food allergies. This is a new kind of trust. I don't have to just trust the teachers (no longer strangers) and the familiar building with familiar faces that love our family. I have to trust the system. I have to trust that the measures we were allowed to put in place to protect him will work. I have to trust that his oral immunotherapy for his most severe allergy to peanuts will protect him. And try to ignore that his newly positive results for tree nuts could come to haunt me.

Here's the thing. He's five. And he knows that he has an allergy to food. He knows that it can make him really sick, or land him back in the hospital. He knows that he has to ask about everything. He knows he has to watch what's going on around him.

But he's FIVE. Five years old. Five year old's should not have this weight on their shoulders. He should not fear food. He should not fear death. He should not be afraid of every cough and ask if there are 'hidden peanuts' wherever we are. He should not have to worry about these things. And he most certainly shouldn't have a list of responsibilities he, himself, has to do to protect himself in a school setting. But he does. All of these things.

And it breaks me. Breaks. Me. But I can't let it break him. And he won't let it break him. He's one of the strongest, most verbal and brave kids I know. Even if he doesn't realize how brave it is that he's been eating something that could kill him for three years now. He knows when something feels off, and he asks if he's ok. I will ask "Are you ok, Elias?" after his daily peanut dose and he'll reply "I'm not having an allergic reaction, Mom." No child should have to say these things. But so many do. And it's just heartbreaking.

Rewind back to being an infant and getting random hives, fairly often, when Asher would eat peanut butter. And to his first 'touch' of peanut butter resulting in serious hives. Rewind back to his first bloodwork being 'high' at '13'. And within a year, going up to '89'. Rewind back to this fall when it dropped to '23' after OIT (hooray!) but still very, very high. And rewind back to the component testing telling us his dominant reaction is anaphylaxis. But, I could have told you this myself.

After sailing through a year of OIT without so much as redness or cough, he went into full blown anaphylaxis after his daily dose at home. What started as a nagging cough, progressed to his airway closing. It was not during the usual 15-minute window of a 'typical' reaction. It was 45 minutes after eating his dose. He was not sick. It just happened. And it was a horrific reminder that he's still very much allergic.

I know that he can tolerate 2.5g of peanut today (about 2 big peanuts) without issue - so long as he isn't sick, overactive or fighting off an illness. But what I don't know is how his body is going to respond to peanut residue around him daily, for hours. In addition to activity, all the germs his body will be responding to. I don't know, yet, that he's going to be ok.

I don't know that his classmates are going to be sympathetic or not. I don't know if he'll develop friendships where the sweet kids ask their parents to not pack peanut butter so they can sit next to him at his 'designated' seat at the lunch table. I don't know if parents are going to read the 'severe allergy in the class so please don't send in snacks with nuts' and take it seriously and not send in nuts. I don't know if having an alternate 'treat' at all the class parties is going to make him sad. I don't know if those around him will recognize his symptoms if he does react. I don't know if he will speak up the way we've taught him to. I don't know if his lunch box that turns into a placemat is going to be sufficient. I don't know if he'll remember to wipe his hands, or wash them, or do it sufficiently before snack and lunch. I don't know if the crowded classroom and his accommodations are going to be an extra burden on his teacher. I don't know. I don't know. I don't know.

But here's what I do know. The Lord is a shield around him. And we've done all we can do to get accommodations in place to protect him. And we're going to keep pushing for further accommodations. I'm going to keep speaking up and advocating. I'm going to maintain a close relationship with his teacher and do anything and everything I can to help her. He'll have Asher, his biggest and best advocate under the same roof, and at lunch and during recess. And I'm going to be a wreck for the next...well, always. He's leaving our bubble, and he's out in the great big world. And I have to be brave for him. And I have to trust. Trust in the change, in the process, in my little boy, and those caring for him.

At the risk of this post getting super long, I feel the need to point out somethings that I've noticed by being involved at our great, little school for the last two years and by being a part of several local allergy online communities. The kids were playing in peanuts at the fair field trip under the bleachers. Asher was the only one who noticed. And I worried about who may have an allergy and for those that may have an allergy in after school care or back at home, with the residue that was surely on the clothes of those on the field trip. I noticed that the dress up clothes in our relay activity at the neighboring park were laying among pecan and walnut shells. I kept an eye on the kids, wondering if anyone was allergic. I wondered where the teacher was with the epi pen bag. I wondered if anyone knew the park was loaded with these trees and how Elias would react (if at all) in the same scenario. I know the story of a Kindergarten student in Wake County that had an anaphylactic reaction at school from peanut butter smeared on the bottom side of the table, and then the administrators didn't administer the epi pen correctly (holding for 10 seconds) and he had a second reaction later that evening, worse, with a trip via ambulance to the hospital.

I know these things. I know and notice these things because they are our life. Our every day. Our every moment. And I fully recognize that others, thankfully, don't have to think the way we do. But we do have to think this way to keep our child safe and alive. Alive. Yes, alive. I pray that anyone reading this that finds out there is a student in their child's class with a food allergy can think about how scary this is for the child, and for their family and the teacher. Take it seriously. Do what you can to help and include the child. I can promise you that it would mean the world to those of us that have this heavy weight on our shoulders every day. Every hour. Every damn minute.

We have a health plan in place for Elias. To say I'm satisfied with it would be a lie. I'm not. The Wake County School System has a system that allows me to 'select' which accommodations I want in place for Elias. There was no option to deviate from these options, or add anything in. I had my choices, as passed down from the attorneys as satisfactory for a 'community environment'. There are options that were once allowed that are no longer allowed because they are a disruption to the day.

Because I'm not the type to just accept what instinct tells me is wrong, we are pushing further. We will be setting up a 504 plan for Elias. This is developed to ensure that a child with a disability receives accommodations that equal academic success and access to the learning environment. Life-threatening food allergies are considered a disability as they impact breathing. The whole situation is really unsettling, as some schools in the WCPSS seem to set up 504s for many with food allergies and others push back against it, and say to rely on the health plan. By law, Elias is entitled for a 504 plan and this holds the school accountable to the Federal Government to meet reasonable accommodations for him. In short, a 504 plan potentially trumps what the Wake County attorneys give me as options for keeping him safe.

And honestly, I'm willing to sit down with each of these attorneys and give them a little lesson on food allergies and how severe they can be. I am willing to talk to anyone and everyone. I'm willing to go the entire mile to get safer accommodations into their computer program of 'options' for the health plan. I want to make it easier and safer for other food allergy students entering the school system.

Now don't worry, as I told Rusty, I'm not trying to have a heli-pad installed on the playground in the case that Life Flight may be needed. I'm seeking reasonable additions to his health plan, for his safety. For, potentially, his life. And it seems, from what I'm told thus far, it's going to be something that needs discussing beyond our great school nurse and staff. It's going to have to go higher up the chain. And I'm ok with that. I just know it's going to be a long process, and until then, these measures I am requesting won't be in place.

What follows are some of the options I 'chose' for Elias from the list in the system, and what I'd like to see instead. Please note, from what I'm told, these are across Wake County. Some schools and teachers may go the extra mile and deviate from these options, but apparently that's frowned upon as these are the measures set forth by the attorneys for the safety of everyone. And going outside of what's in the health plan is not allowed.

  • He will sit at the end of the lunch table every day, and without reading labels (because of liability) those on cafeteria duty (not his usual teacher who knows him best) will create a buffer beside and across him of students that don't 'appear' to have nut products in their lunch. PBJ is offered at breakfast and lunch daily. Kids are messy. His space and seat will be wiped down with water and a paper towel prior to eating. Water does NOT remove nut proteins. And I'm trusting that someone remembers to do this every day. He's not allowed to wipe his own space because it makes him more likely to come into contact with residue. He will bring a place mat to eat off of, and bring his own trash home daily. So, we're about to find out how well a place mat, a water smeared table and a five-year-old in a busy cafeteria equal safety. According to what I'm told, the tables are only wiped with water until all students have eaten for the day. A. This is gross and unhygienic. B. Again, water doesn't remove nut residue. But the attorneys determined this was my option. I'd like to see the table at least wiped with a baby wipe or soap and water. The concern, I'm told, is that harsh cleaners can trigger asthmatic reaction or contact dermatitis in other students. I'm all for keeping everyone safe, so seriously soap and water would do the trick here. And soap and water would have the added bonus of removing germs.

  • He will not be allowed to use any food-based items in learning activities. I'll work with the teacher to provide similar non-food options. Why do we need food-based learning if there are non-food alternatives? When I asked how it's supposed to be so much safer for him to use 'plastic beads' instead of some 'cereal' when everyone else in his classroom has said 'cereal', I was told at least this reduces his direct contact some. Um, ok. I'd love to see food out of the classrooms (I'm sure I'll get some groans from this.). But really, do we need food to learn? Do we need sugar and junk for every student's birthday? Especially when there are multiple students being excluded from said activities because of food allergies or sensitivities? A teacher friend of mine said she'd love to be told that food must be removed from the classroom. She said it would limit disruptions and make things just plain easier. This is a much bigger issue, and won't be a part of my 504 requests. But, just throwing it out there that constantly excluding a child is not inclusive. For something that isn't needed. We can learn and celebrate without food. #steppingoffthatsoapbox
  • A letter will go home to his classmates stating there is an (anonymous) student in the classroom with severe allergies to peanuts and tree nuts - requesting  they not send in food with these ingredients. Our school is pretty unique -- and part of the reason I love it -- in that class sizes are small, and each grade level is in one large classroom that's subdivided into three class spaces. There are no walls. There is a lot of moving from one space to the next. And snack is eaten in the classroom. I wanted the letter to go home to the entire Kindergarten since they do share one classroom, but this was not an option. This is something I hope we can change. It is one classroom. With one entry. With one set of cubbies. With shared supplies. Kids are messy. And even if every parent in Elias's class happens to not ever send in a nut snack (which would be amazing), there will likely be nut snacks mere feet from him and in a space he may be watching a video in later that day. I just feel like it doesn't hurt to send the letter home to everyone given the nature of the classroom set up. We'll see how well that goes over. And again, this letter is a request. Wake County will not restrict any food.
  • All students in his class will eat their snack on a paper towel, Elias will be allowed to wash his hands prior to eating (or use a wipe) and will have a designated snack eating space. I'm not really sure what this translates to as far as if his assigned table mates bring a nut item to snack. And all supplies at the table are shared. So, his pencils and crayons are shared by students who may have eaten a nut-included snack. And even if his table is safe, kids are messy, they touch everything. Hand-washing by his classmates isn't an option after snack (or lunch) so to think that a paper towel will do much of anything to prevent residue spreading is laughable to me. And, teacher's can't read labels (or legally are not supposed to). But they have to somehow keep his table safe(r) during snack.
  • Which brings me to hand-washing. It was not an option for me to ask that his classmates wash their hands following snack and lunch. This has been an option in previous years, but not in the new system. The attorneys determined this was too much of a disruption - even for the new schools with sinks in the actual classrooms. So, this is no longer an option for any health plan in the county, from what I'm told. From my consultation with the Dept. of Education's Office of Civil Rights, an 'administrative' reason is not acceptable for not providing a reasonable accommodation under a 504. I am a daughter of a retired teacher. I know the work of teachers - and I personally don't know how on earth they do it. I truly think it's the hardest job out there. I don't want to add to their work in any way. But, isn't it a disruption when the entire first grade (like last year) gets wiped out by the flu and stomach bug? Hand washing is hygiene. I think it's smart to wash your hands before you eat regardless of a food allergy. And I'm not expecting the teacher who has her hands so full to remember to tell Elias to wash his hands before and after eating, or to use a wipe. So, that's going to be on him. And, obviously, kids could be totally terrible hand washers, but I feel like every little bit helps in more ways than just protecting against food residue -- it's good hygiene. In a perfect world, Elias's class (and every student in the building, honestly, would be able to wash hands prior to and especially following eating. With extra emphasis on the washing after eating in the classroom space during snack time.
There are lots of other great parts of the options we were given in the health plan creation. But there are some serious areas that are lacking for true safety, based on my experience in the food allergy world for the last four years. And many are just plain beneficial overall. I feel like for such a large school system (17th in the nation), we should be further along than this. Charlotte-Mecklenburg schools are nut restricted, which I recognize doesn't help with other food allergies. But science shows us that nut allergies are the ones that have the greatest likelihood of being life-threatening, and I applaud them taking that step to at least remove that one allergen from the school community. My friend in Michigan has nut-allergic kids, and their schools are all nut-restricted as well. I know of schools that don't allow food parties or food activities. So, I'm not coming up with something crazy and out the blue here. I have read horror stories. I've laid awake at night worried about the situation we'd be coming into. I am not as comfortable as I'd like to be with the measures in place for him. So, we will do what it takes to try to get it to be at least somewhat safer for him and others like him. 

The way his health plan is set up now, I know 100% that Elias would have multiple reactions at school without his tolerance built up from OIT. I know that. He is/was THAT allergic. I know that all reactions can't be prevented. I know we can't stay inside our nut-free home forever. We go out. We travel, we play and experience. But he's with US. We know him and his body. We wipe down surfaces with something other than water. We wash hands at appropriate times. We opt to go where we go and make sure it's safe for him. So sending him somewhere I'm required to send him, and trusting on what feels like a lackluster system is hard for me. Really hard. We are about to test OIT to its limits. And I'm going to hope and pray that those caring for him recognize symptoms, should they occur. That he speaks up. That they notice the nuts on the playground from the squirrels. And wash their hands after they eat their PB crackers. That they get him treatment in time. Time with an allergic reaction can mean life or death. I am going to stress to them all, if it seems like he may be reacting, epi him. It won't hurt him, but it could save his life. Don't delay. Don't doubt. Just do it. Because I know I would, and I did. 

So, for now, I'm beyond grateful for OIT and the progress we've made. I'm going to trust in the system, but more importantly trust in the loving people that will share that building caring for my boy. I think our little gem of a school is where we definitely should be. I know he will thrive. I treasure that little school. But I'm still scared. And I'm still going to push for what I feel is best for my child and his life. And spend the next 48 hours in denial that I'm about to have to truly let go. 

But, like I've always said, Let go and let God. 

The Lord is a shield around my son. 

We'll do what we can on our end to push for changes to his accommodations, and in the meantime trust in Elias and the wonderful people at school watching over him. And hopefully, good things will come of our pushing. And more importantly, Elias will remain safe and thrive in his new, big world.

Prayers appreciated. XO

p.s. If you made it all the way through this post, thank you. It was truly a mind dump of everything that's been weighing on me for weeks. And I just needed to get it out as therapy for my soul. 

Saturday, September 3, 2016

Conyer the Baby's Birth Story

Funny how things are so different this time around. In a lot of ways. But for the sake of this post, let me start by saying it's taken me 362 days to sit down and write the story of Conyer's birth. I've thought about writing it almost daily. The weight of such a beautiful story weighing on my mind. And the guilt of not having written it yet weighing on my heart.

But here I am, a few nights before Conyer Edward Kroboth turns one. And this is the story of his perfect arrival into our family.

Pregnancy number three was no joke. I was older, and I felt it. I had two other boys to tend to, and a business to run. And I was tired. I had my usual four months of morning sickness, proceeded several months before by 10 weeks of additional sickness when we had our miscarriage. So, I was very much over being pregnant. And very much anticipating the arrival of our third son.

We had a name picked out. His big brothers were so excited to meet him. And I knew this time around it'd be a different kind of welcome for the newest Kroboth. Asher was only 22 months when Elias was born, and he had no idea what had just happened. But this time, Asher was keenly aware that he was going to have a baby, and Elias followed suit. I couldn't wait for them to meet him. I knew they'd both be the best of big brothers and that the introduction would be a moment to remember.

A few weeks before Conyer was born, my Mema passed away. It wasn't something any of us saw coming, but it also didn't happen super fast. And I found myself again in the heart wrenching position of losing a grandmother, a beautiful life, while bringing another member of the family into the world. When we all last spoke to Mema she told us that she was excited to hold the baby, and that she'd hold him all day long. The boys agreed. And I know she held him. I know she held him each and every day from the moment she passed into heaven until he was in my arms.

In memory and honor of her, we changed our planned name to Conyer. Mema's mother's maiden name was Conyers. I read the obituary and knew instantly that this is who he was meant to be. Conyer. Edward after his dad, Pop Pop and Grandpop. Conyer Edward Kroboth. A name with intense love and meaning.

I quickly learned the term prodomal labor. Very common with subsequent pregnancies said my genius doula. It meant I was going into 'false' labor nightly for about a week before the real labor kicked in. Rusty had long since relocated to the guest room because my snoring was out of control. And each night, I'd go to bed, feel the contractions begin and each morning they would ease off. I remember being frustrated at the time, but I wasn't too terribly uncomfortable. My sleep number bed and extra space helped me stay comfortable. And I had a calmness about me this time around. I knew I could have a vbac again. I knew my body was capable. I was simply waiting.

September 5th, I went to bed wondering if tonight would be the night that things kept going. Somewhere around the middle of the night I knew the answer was yes. I laid in bed a while. Walked around the house quietly for a few hours. I leaned into the contractions. And I even thought that this couldn't be it because it wasn't nearly as intense as it was with Elias. But, really, I think I knew what to expect and I was doing a better job of mentally rolling with each contraction and embracing them.

Around 6 am, I woke Rusty up and told him it was time to go to the hospital. He was in shock. Now? Right now? (I was thinking yes dear, I let you sleep through all this.) We had to call Nini to come stay with the big boys. Of course this was the one night she had concert tickets, didn't hear our 25,000 phone calls and texts and Rusty went and knocked on her door. That got her right up and over, though half asleep.

We arrived to Rex just before the shift change at 7 am. I was sent to triage and still had thoughts of maybe this wasn't active labor because I was entirely too calm and managing things far too well. The contractions seemed too short to me, but the belly monitor said otherwise and I had progressed from my previous OBGYN check up. So, I was admitted.

Labor kicked into high gear pretty quickly. I had some IV meds to take the edge off. Soon after, though, I was ready for my epidural. It took very nicely, but I still felt the intensity of the growing contractions so they upped the meds. Then I felt like a solid log with no ability to move an inch. It took the nurse and Rusty to so much as scoot me. But I was progressing and comfortable so we went with it.

A few times, the charge nurse and the OBGYN would slip into the room with a few others. I would soon realize this meant that Conyer wasn't behaving well on the monitors. An internal monitor was placed and we positioned me in ways that he responded best to. The last time the crowd came in to see what was going on with him, the nurse suggested replacing the internal monitor. The doctor went to do just that and said, "Let's have a baby instead!"

You know, it's been almost a year so the specifics are fuzzy (Sorry, Con!). But I think he was out in literally about three pushes. I was in shock at how fast, calm and easy it all was. I heard him cry. I cried. I was so relieved he was here safely. We spent our time skin to skin and tried nursing. I'd soon learn that his jaw was retracted which presented a whole slough of challenges to come. But in that moment, he was just my sweet, new sleepy big baby. All 9 lbs 1 oz of him! Born before it was even lunchtime!

Big brothers came to visit as soon as we got settled into our room. And boy, they swooned over their Conyer. I can still see so vividly them perched on the end of my bed holding their baby. And just like that, there were three Kroboth boys.

I've heard people talk about how beautiful their labors were and how they'd do it again in a heartbeat. And I thought they were crazy crazy crazy. But truly, I loved loved loved my labor with Conyer. I had my awesome doula friend supporting me through all the false starts. She was by my side at the hospital. Rusty seemed calmer. We all had this unspoken 'we've got this' attitude. And there was just a sense of peace and strength through this labor.

My anxiety doesn't like knowing what not to expect. And this time, I knew how labor felt and I welcomed it with open arms. I breathed. I didn't even do as much timing. I just went with my gut and let my body guide me. I think Ashley and Rusty both would tell you they could tell a difference in my laboring. And I felt it, too. It was an incredible experience. Bringing Conyer into this world with confidence and peace is one of my grandest accomplishments. (And I'd do it again. I'm not going to do it again, but I would.)

I look back on his birth and my heart swells. It was just seriously so exquisitely powerful, wonderful and gave me the best third little boy a mom could ask for. Doesn't get any better than that.

Now excuse me while I go dream of labor and delivery, recalling each moment that brought Conyer the Baby into our lives. Such an awesome, freaking awesome morning was September 6, 2015.

Happy almost birthday, my littlest love.

Tuesday, October 27, 2015

Try not to think about what might have been.

Whenever I stop and think about where we are at with our family, I feel immeasurably blessed. But also immeasurably overwhelmed, anxious and all kinds of emotions jumbled up into once. Conyer joined us on September 6th. And bless his heart; his little existence thus far hasn't been super pleasant and it's been that way around the clock. In fact, quite the opposite.

As soon as he was born, and had trouble latching onto the breast, I knew something was up. I pumped and sent the little tad bit of milk to the nursery with Conyer. The nursery wrote in his record "disorganized latch". The nurse told me it took them a lot of work, but they finally got it into him. He was not a super happy baby at this point. I was so ready for the lactation consultant to visit our room the next morning and she confirmed what I already knew: he was having trouble nursing for physical reasons.

His lower jaw was pulled in and on the short side (thus not allowing his gums to align to form a good suck) and it was possible he was a bit tongue tied, though it wasn't an obvious or severe tongue tie. Together, though, it seemed the trouble I thought he was having was a reality.

And I was sad.

 I had this vision of nursing my what would likely be my last baby, singing my calm down repertoire of songs, having my husband pass him over after middle of the night diaper changes for my special mommy-baby time and nursing him back to sleep. Rocking and nursing. Snuggling that milk drunk little guy.


All of that was just plain wrong. Silly me for even thinking ahead with these visions.

In reality, we had about a week of screaming. I mean HOURS of screaming. Around the clock. And hours of nursing. Screaming and nursing. My milk came in, the screaming continued. A few visits to the pediatrician confirmed what I suspected (again); he wasn't gaining weight. He wasn't thriving. Everyone in the office felt for me. I came in crying, in pajamas and I'd weigh him and feel defeated. 

I'd post updates to Facebook, asking for prayers and support. Many told me that I may just need to supplement with formula/bottle and that'd be ok. I know that would be ok! I would have LOVED for that to work. But my sweet baby couldn't figure out a bottle nipple either. We all just kind of passed around the screaming baby, each trying to get food in him in some way or another.

After a visit from a lactation consultant, we had this really detailed and long process way of feeding him. It involved us both being topless, walking, holding him vertical, applying weight of the breast on his bottom (short) jaw, etc. etc. He seemed pretty content for a few days, but the pressure I felt personally was so immense. He couldn't handle a bottle, and every feeding with me was either a struggle of him trying to latch or me rejoicing that the walking/vertical/puzzle seemed to pay off that time. It was all on me, and it didn't seem to be going very well. He maintained his weight, but wasn't growing. And I was beyond exhausted. I didn't want it all to be on my shoulders. I felt trapped and scared and sad for him.

At the pediatrician again, I cried again. It was a weekend. The nurse came in and sat with me. She grabbed some pricey allergen-free formula (Oh, and I should note at this point I'm already taken off dairy because his stool showed signs of dairy intolerance at this day three check up.) and a bottle and tried to feed him. It wasn't working. I tried nursing. He gained 2 oz. That made me feel better. She tried the bottle again. I told her some things the lactation consultant mentioned for bottle tips, and I casually mentioned that a friend had a preemie and we had to hold her jaw up for her while eating. Bingo. We got him to eat 1.5 oz of formula. I cried. Happy cried.

Eight varieties of bottles from Babies R Us later, and we are settled into using Dr. Browns at home and giving him pumped milk. It was the only way I could guarantee that he was getting a good volume of food for the time being. I was sad at not nursing, but at that point, I wanted more than anything to see my baby thrive. To see him not cry in hunger. To see him eat without struggling too badly.

We got into a new normal routine. I pumped. Rusty bottle fed overnight. Joni during the day. I didn't really want to bottle feed him at first because I was sad. I just focused on the pump and how I could see that he was getting what he needed. It paid off. He gained weight at the next check up. The office cheered! Hooray!

We had a good week or so of a more 'normal' baby. He slept and ate and slept and ate and fussed in the evenings. I took him to the chiropractor for her to see what she could do maybe with his jaw. She began some stretches. Everyone assured me that his jaw would grow, it would just take time. He was still very disorganized on the bottle, but we worked through it with each feeding and I just decided to see how the next few weeks went.

They went downhill.

He became a screaming miserable baby again. Hoarse. Lots of mucus swallowing and choking noises. Hiccups all day long. All day long. Waking himself up from sleep, screaming. His body stayed in frown mode. His face looked grumpy and tense. His whole body was tense, actually. It was impossible to get any real sleep out of him.

I again knew something was wrong. And it was - reflux or GERD.

Back at the doctor, I was crying again. I told her everything and that I knew it was reflux. This actually went over well with her because she knows us after three kids, and knows this isn't our first rodeo. She said if Rusty, my sister and me couldn't get him soothed then it was definitely something else going on with him. Asher was a hot mess of a colicky baby, but we could get him soothed. Conyer - we could not. It was awful. Just plain awful.

We started Zantac. First day seemed to be somewhat improved. Second and third were rough again. All over again. Rough. I called and asked for something stronger. We were prescribed Prilosec, and a pretty high dose at that. It's tricky to time it right though. At least an hour after eating, and at least thirty minutes before the next feeding. At around the same time each day. Figure that one out, yeah. Day one, improvement. slightly maybe. Day two, more improvement, maybe? Day three, his voice sounded less hoarse. There was less thick mucus swallowing happening. Less screaming. His face relaxed. His body relaxed. He slept. He wasn't rigid. He was a sweet, sleeping, for-the-most-part calm baby. I felt such a weight lifted. One issue solved for now. And so thankful for meds for infants and for a doctor that listened to me right away.

Here we are at 7 weeks old. He's sleeping well at night for the most part. He still has his screaming fits, but what 6-8 week old doesn't, right? He smiles and even coos from time to time. He still spits up, but it doesn't seem to bother him. We have hiccups once every day or so. His belly seems to be adjusting to the meds (after a few weeks of trouble there, too). We must hold him upright for 30 minutes after each feeding. Carseat always equals puke. No bouncing or jiggling allowed. Lots of burping. We observe what positions or activities seem to work and what seem to cause reflux right away, or later in the day. He's high maintenance. Seriously. And he can't help it.

I've tried nursing here or there, and it works pretty well. But I think that's just because he's my third baby and I thankfully have lots of milk flowage. He won't stay latched and still struggles. Pretty much only Rusty, Joni or me can give the bottle with any kind of success. And if he gets too worked up, it's a real battle even for us. He gets so frustrated and can't seem to figure out how to latch and suck and swallow. It's pitiful.

We went to see a feeding specialist this week, and an ENT. We are continuing the chiropractor visits. We now think that while he has a very minor tongue tie, his frenulum (is that the right word?) is very tight. His tongue only just recently has come out past his gum line. And his gum lines are still very mismatched from the jaw. Combine the jaw and the reflux and the tight, tied down tongue and you have struggles. Lots of them. Could his jaw grow? Of course. And we hope it does. It's much looser now, and he's not holding it tight in pain (as he was when reflux was at its worst). Could his tongue sort itself out over time. Of course. But, if we want to give him the best chance at not struggling with every feeding, and give his jaw the best chance at moving forward and growing, and give his tongue the best chance at sucking efficiently, then we need to have his frenulum clipped. I cringe just typing that. But we need to try. We need to try whatever we can. So, we will on November 9 (if I can't beg my way in before then).

So, I try not to think about what might have been. I miss nursing every day. My heart physically hurts every time I see him trying to drink from a bottle and struggling. I am so tired from reading and observing and reading and observing. I don't want to miss a thing, and I want to do right by this kid. But I'm tired. I relish in the milk drunk baby snuggles during our 30 minute upright times. But I am so over this pump. I try not to harp on the fact that we probably won't be having another baby, and this chaotic, screaming, crying (me), sad mess of an experience is going to be our last. So really, this is our reality. But everything happens for a reason. The Lord sees to that. I know that.

I just try not to think about what might have been, that's all.
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