So my Dyl PIckles should be a Bionic Boy by now. I swear that kid has his own dedicated medical team. Ok, he doesn’t have that, but maybe he should have his own Dr. House on standby to figure out all the mysteries that surround this kid, and by mysteries, I mean accidental injuries mixed in with a few surgical procedures.
I remember when I brought him home. I thought he was absolutely perfect. He’d been a few weeks early, but I was glad to be done with bed-rest and on to loving my little man. There was only one problem. He kept throwing up. By the time he was 8 weeks old, he could vomit 6 feet across the room. Blondie was the cutest little 4-year-old big sister, and she loved to tote him around. One day he decided to unleash his projectile puke right on her new shirt, and she straight-up dropped him on the floor. She came running to me saying “mommy, my shirt!” I went running for the baby and she stood there dumb founded because I picked him up before I helped her!
Of course, he survived, and we have a good “dropped you on your head” story to blame when his shortcomings surface, but I always think about how little he was the day I took him to the doctor and demanded they fix him.
I’d been breastfeeding, I’d tried formula, I had switched to soy, lacto-free, sensitive, by the time I went back to the doctor I had exhausted every effort myself. He had been on prescription acid reflux medicine, and the doctor still thought perhaps I just wasn’t feeding him correctly. Well, if there is anything I’m good at, it’s mothering, so I told that doctor he better dig just a little deeper. He finally agreed to do an ultrasound, and suddenly that doctor’s demeanor changed! “Your baby needs surgery now!”
It turned out to be pyloric stenosis, a fairly common issue in newborns. Not nearly as common in a baby two months old, but lucky me I was so sure something was wrong with my baby that I wasn’t leaving the doctor that day until they found it. I really made that doctor mad when I wanted to watch him perform the surgery. I didn’t get my way on that one, but the doctor did tell me I was right to follow my gut, that I had saved my baby’s life. He would have dehydrated and probably died within 48 hours had I not been so adamant that they look a little closer.
You’d think that would be his one big trip to the hospital story, but it was just the first of many. Then there was the time Blondie dared him to jump a mud puddle on roller skates and he broke his arm. He was shaped like the letter “Y” when I got outside to see it, and off we went to the ER again. He kept saying “I’m sorry mommy” as if he owed me an apology! I still laugh about that, and about the fact that he swore he saw flying monkeys aiming right for him. He had a few more arm fractures, one of which they called a green stick because he bent his bone into a C shape, but it didn’t actually crack! Oh, and he broke his ankle. Then one day in fifth grade I pulled up from work to find him passed out on the front porch, and he had to have another surgery in the same spot on his stomach to fix him again. All that stomach nonsense has left him with ulcers and other stomach issues that have never made a bowl of chili much fun!
In eighth grade he took a hit on the football field that required me to drive on the field and load him into my car. Luckily that one wasn’t too bad, just a sprain, but I think last year might have been the toughest year on him yet. He had surgery to fix a torn labrum in his shoulder. Everyone scolds me for letting my boys play dangerous sports like football, but come on now, this is Texas! Besides, he didn’t tear his labrum on the football field. He did that running down the hall the day of our vacation to Tennessee. He jumped up to swing from his pullup bar, it slipped, he landed on the floor! Two years, 3 sets of Xrays, 2 CT Scans, and an MRI later, they finally went in to fix it. Of course during his recovery he bounced off the back of his truck and managed to rip the ligament off of the bone in his foot!
A lot of coaches and teachers have scolded him, thinking he was nursing injuries or making them up. One teacher actually told him he might as well quit football. I hate that because he’s kind of too old to have his mommy come to school with him, but he’s still my kid, and no matter how big they get, we don’t like it when people don’t understand our kids! At least the athletic trainer offered to add me to his family plan so we could talk for free because last week my Pickle was running when a part of his stomach bulged out! Back to the ER we went. Since then we’ve seen two doctors and a surgeon and we have a list of tests we’re about to face. Perhaps its a hernia, or scar tissue may be tangled up in that muscle where he has been operated on before or his gall bladder function could be low or his liver could have a problem. That is the list of possibilities. I feel bad for him because he set some goals for himself in athletics, and he was hoping to reach them before the school year ends, and I want nothing more than to see him succeed. I wish I could go from person to person and say “Look, my son cares. He is trying. He’s not a quitter, he’s really hurt,” but that doesn’t seem to work. It just looks like he brings his mommy to do his talking. So, I think I will see if I can get some bionic parts put into him- maybe get him some superhero powers. After all these battle scars, I think he deserves to be able to run faster than a speeding bullet, or scale a building with a web-shooting finger. Is that really to much to hope for? And if it’s not to much to ask for, do you think it would be covered under his HMO???
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