Why not go ahead and write about pacis and tubes?

Per usual, I am a little behind on the ol’ blog.  I’d like to do a 27-month update, but before I tackle that, I wanted to document a few other milestones.

I planned to do a blog about The Great Paci Takeaway, and another blog about tubes but since neither were particularly positive experiences, I’ll get them all over with at once.  Cool?

The Great Paci Takeaway

I am not exaggerating when I tell you that this is one of the hardest things I’ve ever had to do as a parent. Doster LOVED his paci. LOVED more than most anything.  It was a special, bedtime-only security blanket, and I had no idea how spoiled we ALL were by it. With the paci, Doster went to bed with very little fussing or pushback—it was paci time, so all was well. It could not last forever, and we knew that it was time.

After Doster’s excellent two-year checkup, we headed to the mall to build a special paci-bear.  I read online that kids LOVED putting their pacis in bears and they received consolation knowing that they still had their paci, only inside their new bear.  WRONG. 

Doster started freaking out as soon as the bear was sewn up.  “GET IT OUT!” he screamed.   At the store, he cried uncontrollably, I cried uncontrollably, and the poor high-school aged cashier looked at us as though we’d given her years of free birth control. Sweet Uncle Thomas was a trooper and served as extra support for James.  The brief moment of humor came when James asked the cashier if she could take tips. She couldn’t.

Doster’s bear (actually a tiger) served no comfort for him—it was only a reminder of his missing pacis. It was a pure three weeks of misery – crying for paci every night. It still makes me feel a pit in my stomach just thinking about it.  Taking something way from your child that brings them so much comfort and security is SO TOUGH. 

Now that we are a few months out of the hole, life is much better.  Doster will still occasionally ask about his paci, but he knows the drill. “ I a big boy—tigey has my paci.”

Bed time is still not as easy as it was with paci, but I am positive that we can make our way back.

Tigey, by the way, lives in the closet.  He only makes guest appearances when necessary.

Tubes and adenoids and masks, oh my.

If you’ll remember, a little over a year ago, sweet Dosterhad tubes put in to his ears to help ease up all of the ear infections. It was a beautiful year until one of those tubes decided to fall out (which is very normal).  Once the tube fell out, we were back on the ear infection train, which also meant the antibiotic train.  Our ENT mentioned that if the fluid did not clear, that we may be looking at tubes again. 

At first, I was annoyed.  Then after other round antibiotics (which I am NOT a big fan of) I mentally prepared myself for tubes round 2.  I remember going to that checkup—patting myself on the back for being so level-headed and ready to proceed with the doctor’s orders, with my emotions in check. 

WRONG.  What I was NOT prepared for was the suggestion to remove Doster’s adenoids while we did the tubes.  I had been so proud of myself for mentally preparing, all to be thrown this emotional curve ball. The doctor explained in detail why we needed them, but all I could think was: Do not cry here, calm down, this is normal, breath.  I had to call the doctor the next day to get the information again; I was so unable to focus on what he was saying.

It felt like the biggest decision I’d ever make.  Adenoids? WTF are adenoids and why would I want to take them out?  

It was a really hard decision to make.  I want to give a huge shout-out to our pediatrician, Dr. Painter.   I left him a crazy-mom voicemail and he took time out of his evening to call me back and weigh in on the decision. He took so much extra time to walk me through the process—not all doctors would have done that.  He’s a keeper.

What truly sealed the deal was that Doster got an extremely gnarly ear infection the week after our consultation.  It seemed like a sign to do what it took to avoid more of these.  A hot, feverish, two-year-old waking up in the middle of the night saying sweetly, “somethin’ hurts” is enough.

Wow—that was a lot of backstory—I didn’t realize I had so much to say on the topic. 

We waited until the day before the procedure to talk to Doster about it. We gave him a few key bullets:

-          We’re waking up early.

-          We’re going to see Dr. Vidrine (note, we did not say hospital!)

-          You get a special mask.

-          It will make you feel sleepy.

-          When you wake up, mommy will be there.

That’s it!

Sweet boy woke up with a smile that morning and we took him to the hospital in his PJs.  

The hardest part was waiting to be called back.  That 20 minutes felt like two hours to me.  Once we were in the pre-op room, it moved pretty quickly.  Everyone was very sweet to Doster and he was a good sport. He did not want to put on the special shirt, but we talked him into it.

The genius staff at the hospital has these cool little wagons and cars that they can take the children to the surgery room in.  That made Doster SO happy.  He was promised a popsicle at the end and that seemed to be enough to convince him to ride away with the nurse.

After 15 long minutes waiting, I was called back to recovery (only one parent allowed, sorry James).  From experience, I knew that coming out of anesthesia would be the hardest part.  But I knew that since we’d talked about it the day before that Doster could handle it.  HE WAS A CHAMP.  He did not even cry--- he was uncomfortable and wanted mommy, but he rocked it. 

“He wouldn’t let go of that mask—he can keep it”, said the nurse.  I knew that talking up the mask would help!

He asked for a Popsicle but had no interested in eating it—he just wanted me to hold it. 

Dr. Vidrine visited us and told me that everything went wonderfully.  He said he suctioned out all of the gross fluid that had been building up in little guy’s ear, and I felt immediately relieved and glad that we’d done it.

Our only little hiccup occurred when the nurse and I disagreed on his pain medicine.  I was adamant that a little Tylenol would suffice but she wanted to give him something stronger.  I cried. She wouldn’t let us leave recovery without it. I gave in.  

James joined us in the post-recovery room and I filled him in.  The nurse in that room made me feel much better about the pain medicine.  We received our instructions and home we went!

Post-recovery room-- still hanging on to his mask.

Sweet Doster felt well enough to ask for Chic-Fil-A on the way home, and of course we allowed it.  I had stocked up on pouches, mashed potatoes, and pudding—but I felt little biscuit and hash browns would be the perfect medicine.

We took it easy for a few days and things seem to be pretty much back to normal!

And, I'd like to add that if you don't agree with our decisions-- that's okay too.  I know that some people are against adenoid removal and deem it an unnecessary medical procedure.  Totally your prerogative. Some folks also think that taking the paci away before three is unnecessary. That works in some families.  We can only weigh our options together as parents talking to doctors that we trust and friends who have comparable experiences. We are making decisions that we feel are best and anyone certainly has the right to disagree with them. Every family is different, and that's what makes the world go 'round.

So, these are a few little things that I wanted to get out of my head and in to the blog.  I pinky promise to have brighter things to discuss next time.  It feels cathartic to get it all out on “paper”.  Both of these experiences have been very educational and humbling.