I didn’t realize how worried I was about his test until it was over – and I had to drink a Coke to stave off the exhaustion. Baby D had a barium swallow test today, to check for any issues beyond his already-diagnosed acid reflux which might be causing his problems. Fortunately the test showed no abnormalities. Unfortunately, however, he had to “fast” (which is a ridiculous term to apply to a baby) for over three hours before the test. He usually eats at least every two hours during the day, and sometimes more frequently given the summer heat.
So by two hours after his last meal, he was angry. Red, screaming, clenching fists, arching back (also related to the acid reflux), and thoroughly frustrated with his mother, who was holding him and, he thought, ignoring all of his signals that he wanted to eat. He’s breastfed, so I know having me hold him and not feed him had to be particularly hard for him to understand. He pulled at my shirt – and he’s very strong for a two month old. He chewed on me and my clothes. And mostly, he screamed as loud and long as he could. Nothing I could do (short of feeding him, which I wanted to do so desperately to make him feel better) consoled my baby boy.
And then? He had to put on a silly little yellow gown and sit in a seat while people stood around him – talking in friendly voices but still not addressing his hunger – and his mother betrayed him, offering him a bottle(!) with gross thick white stuff (barium contrast) that was not mommy’s milk in it. I really felt horrible for doing this for him, even though logically I knew the test would give us important information to help him in the long run. He was still angry, but stopped screaming briefly and swallowed just enough barium for the test before starting up again. As soon as the test was over, I was able to feed him, but he was so worked up and out of sorts by then that it took him a while to settle down and eat. Even after he had nursed and filled up, he continued to fuss and fret. I’m sure the barium felt like a gross heavy weight in his system, and he was totally put out with me.
Did I mention that the poor boy had already been tortured with a visit to the pediatrician in the morning, where he got three shots? Yeah, I’m a really mean mommy. My thought was to get all of the torture over in one day. But I feel wretched after listening to him cry all day.
He continues to be a little bit suspicious of me. When I held him this evening, he stayed awake and watched me (suspiciously?). When his father held him, however, he snuggled up happily and snoozed on his chest. I didn’t imagine that: baby D is put out with me for everything that happened today, a day which his father conveniently spent at work while I was the parental enabler of medical torture.
Hubs says maybe he’ll be over it by morning. After a good night’s sleep, he’ll forgive and hopefully forget. I hope so. And I know I could use the sleep, too, since the stress that was keeping me going has faded.