Drop a Deuce

Graham needs to "Drop a Deuce," as Dan would say. It's been 4 days since he pooped, significantly longer than Cole has ever gone without making a little present for us in his diaper.

This isn't supposed to even phase me. I'm a Yale-educated physician who knows that breast-fed infants may occasionally go without a bowel movement for 5 to 7 days and then pass a normal stool. I'm usually the one calmly trying to explain this to the nervous new mom who has brought her otherwise healthy infant to the ER for, in essence, some reassurance and a well-child check-up. I always hated these well-child checks. Partly because of my own lack of training in well-child care during emergency medicine residency. (Yes, I know this may come as a surprise, but your local ER doc does not know everything about everything.) After all, the ER is supposed to be for sick children, so most of my pediatric encounters as a resident were, appropriately, with kids needing emergent medical care. Give me a kid with a high fever, a seizure, or a traumatic injury and I'm all over it. But a mother wanting counceling on feeding behavior, stooling patterns, vaccination schedules, child development, etc., has always been on the long list of people who frustrate me and make me ask "Why would you come to the ER for... (fill in the blank)?" Save the well-care for the pediatrician.

Well, yesterday, after working all day then having the kids by myself all evening, I was trying desperately to comfort Graham as he screamed on my shoulder after eating, when I noticed his belly was particularly distended. Then came the glimpse of the sort of neurotic maternal panic that might bring even the most rational person to the ER: "I don't care what they said at Yale Med," I thought. "My child IS going to explode!" Even worse than your average neurotic mom, I was the neurotic mom with an MD, which is just like 'roids for illness-related neurosis, because you know too much: "Oh my God. I know it's not Hirschsprung's or Anal Stenosis because he's already been shitting for 2 months, but Jesus Christ now he's drugged from all the anti-histamines I've been taking to sleep after night shifts, or he's hypokalemic, or worse... he has intussusception or volvulus, or he might have a tumor -- Neuroblastoma? Wilms?...." Then Graham burped, stopped crying, and laughed at me, as if to say "It's gas, you idiot."

I knew being a mom would make me a better doctor. Yesterday's lesson -- A little bit of insight into why a mom would come to the ER for something as seemingly innocuous as a change in stooling pattern. In the future I'll try to suppress my frustration at having to do well-child care when I see these frazzled moms, so I don't make them feel as silly as I felt last night when Graham burped me back to my senses.

For now, I just hope Graham drops a deuce already! Until he gets rid of 4 days of poop, he's like a hot potatoe. Who's gonna get the big one?? I'll keep you posted...