Yesterday we had our appointment with Dr. L in the GI dept on the 5th floor in Fegan at Boston Children’s. I was going by myself with Isabelle since Chris had a golf tournament and my mom was scheduled to pick up Liz and Addie. I haven’t made the trip to an appointment for Isabelle by myself before so this was going to be an adventure for us. And what an adventure it turned out to be.
It wasn’t supposed to be a long appointment. Looking back I realize how silly that was for me to assume because you know what they say about assuming things….ass= u+me. I packed the bag accordingly. A Red Sox onsie in case the long sleeve one was too hot, toys, puffs, diapers and a few packets of food in case she got hungry while we were there. No bottles. No milk. Nothing. No blankets or burp cloths. Short trip, nothing major.
After an uneventful trip in I was fortunate enough to find a tiny parking space that my husband would most surely have avoided if he was driving. Popped the trunk and took out the pink umbrella stroller, grabbed the bag and placed Izzie into the stroller. We were off!
It was pouring. The red Maclaren had the nice plastic covering that kept the passenger dry. That stroller was in the van. I had the Hyundai. Cursing myself for not having the foresight of needing the Maclaren, I scurried across the diagonal crossing towards the sidewalk getting my feet and ankles soaked in the process. Izzie kept trying to look at the raindrops and became startled when they splashed her face. This went on for 50 feet.
Getting into the revolving door at Children’s is always fun when there are slower, lost people in front of you trying to figure out what building to go to while inside the door. There is no map in the door. You have to go to the info desk which is inside. That requires you to take a few steps so we can all fit into the revolving slice of pie.
We get in and I make my way to the desk to get the parking validated. Very important to get the ticket validated. You save money and the parking magically becomes $9. My husband makes a beeline for it at every visit. It’s so important it comes before going to the bathroom. Yes, if you know my husband, then you get an idea of priorities here.
Forgetting I have the stroller I go to the stairs. Don’t ask. The bruins were on until after midnight the night before. Lets just say my thinking cap was back in the car in the tiny space. Elevator it is. Take a left, follow the fish. Fish is the symbol for Fegan, which is out destination. At the elevators there appears to be quite a crowd. Miraculously we fit and wait to arrive at the 5th floor.
During this whole time I am giving Izzie a play by play of what we are doing and what’s next including (in a singsong voice) “We’re checking in…then we need to change the diap…” La la la. The gentleman sitting behind the desk stops me. “You don’t need to check in. Is this Isabelle?” Wow. Recognized! Why yes, it is. Date of birth? 8/1/2012. Yes I will have a seat over here after we have a little costume change. Thank you.
I literally step out of the bathroom and we are escorted to get height and weight. The nurse keeps telling me how cute she is while Isabelle smiles and claps. I get her undressed and place her on the scale. She is up to 16 pounds 10 oz. I can’t help but smile and move to pick her up. I can’t. She’s peeing. All over the scale. There must have been a half inch of water on the thing. The nurse laughs and tells me she has seen it all. Well hey, at least she didn’t poop, right? She didn’t.
After a good wipe down and a change of paper, we get the height. She is over 26 inches. Again, I kvell. She’s growing. Woohoo!
Once again we get dressed and wait out in the Festival of Potential germs waiting room. Within 5 minutes we were brought to the room where’s we waited for Dr. L. For almost 90 minutes. During that time we played peekaboo, shook the can of Puffs, ate puffs, and had one of the food packets. The nurse came in after an hour and assured me the doctor would be coming in but until she does, how about I tell her a little of what has been going on?
I never like doing is because it always require me to repeat myself word for word when the doctor does in fact arrive but hey- it’s not like I am doing anything else. I show her the site of the tube. It looks gross. I had no idea it looked like that and stammered that it didn’t look like that this morning. The nurse smiles and then tells me that I have the tube secured too tightly. Ah yes. I do make an arch as we had been instructed but SOMEONE like to pull her tube me if it is a toy just for her. I immediately understand what moms of boys go through.
Dr. L comes in and of course I have to repeat the story but that’s ok. We decide that a Mickey button is the best course of action and yes, no dairy since she apparently still has a level of sensitivity. That comes into play later in the story. Perhaps when the breast milk is all gone we can try almond milk, rice milk and maybe soy milk but there is a chance she could vomit that up so maybe not. Lets have scheduling call you after Dr. Levine has been consulted. Great! How about a teaching on how the button is used? Sure, why not? We would only be sitting in traffic anyway so what the heck? Oh wait- it is already 5 and her bottle is scheduled for 6. And she last had one at 1:30….crap.
Consulted with the husband and we both agreed that perhaps CVS had some formula that I could give her in the interim and maybe the solids. Made the trek to the CVS and didn’t see the formula until I got to the counter with the generic pedialyte and Nubi bottle that she has never used before. Hmmm…Good start has a small size we could try. It as the only formula Addie took after I couldn’t pump anymore. Let’s do it! A swipe of the ATM card and off to the cafeteria we went.
Whenever we are inpatient, I am obsessed with BCHs chicken tenders. Love those tenders. I don’t know why but I do. So of course I order those and what’s that? Yes, fries would be lovely! I already have water so no need for a drink. We head over to a table and I make the bottle. She loves it. Ok, maybe not loves but she was hungry (thirsty?) and cried when I would check to see if she was actually drinking it. The chicken was delicious. I saw parents walk by that I have seen here before. I want to say hello but they have the look of exhaustion so I don’t say anything.
Because the bottle isn’t like what we normally use she doesn’t drink as much as I thought and we try again. She falls asleep. Now? We have a long car ride and you decide to sleep now? Consult again with husband, pay for parking and off we go. The machine doesn’t take my $9 ticket. She has woken up and isn’t happy. Damn it! I press the call for assistance button. The attendant can only help me exit, not help me get home with an unhappy baby. W make it to the on ramp by South Hampton street. I hear her make a cough. No way.
The next sound I hear is not a pleasant one. Heaving in between cries and splashes (yes, it was that hard), she is covered with Good Smart. I’m two lanes over from where I should be to get off the expressway. Of course no one can see what is happening and no one feels the need to allow me to pass regardless of my various expressions of “Are you freaking serious??”
As soon as I get into a spot in the first parking lot I reach I row it into park, jump out and race around to the other side. The car seat is completely covered along with the baby who is crying hysterically right now. II immediately unsnap everything and take off her clothes. I bring her to the front seat and get her into the one clean piece of clothing I brought with me- the Red Sox onsie. There’s a Target! W can run into Target and I will get blankets and an outfit for her to ride home in. I placed her. Back into the car seat on top of her sisters T ball shirt. She shrieks.
No one will allow me to park. Everyone feels the need to jump in front of the Sonata to prove the point that pedestrians rule regardless of a puke covered screaming baby. We race in to what appears to be a third world version of Target. Yikes. And to think I left my revolver back home.
I find what we need, checkout, and dress her in the ladies room.
From exit 18 to Exit 9, she screamed. I even pulled over a few times and could not console her. Finally after two hours we are home and the husband comes out to grab he seat. He knew he had to be outside when the car pulled up after the “Don’t EVER do this to me AGAIN” phone call. He even had a bottle ready. All was right in the world. I was exhausted. Just another day in paradise.

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