Evan's doctor's appointment last week confirmed the obvious--he's underweight. Kyle was too when he was younger, but with Evan, it just seems different.
The appointment, of course, was quite the experience. He started letting out the screams as soon as we pulled into the parking lot. They increased as we entered the building, and didn't improve any while we waited in the waited room. Then, when they called us back to the small, confining room...you get the picture.
After a few attempts at weighing him, I offered to weigh myself with and without him. Through this method, we found that he weighs 26 pounds, which is actually one of the numbers we got while trying to weigh him by himself. When combined with the fact that he is between the 50th and 60th percentile in height, he's very far below on the "chart."
When the doctor came in, we first discussed his week-long diarrhea and vomiting, which I'm guessing knocked a pound or two off of him. We then went on to discuss his poop in general (see previous posts).
When I say "discuss," I probably should be saying, "We had to talk loudly and clearly and use good listening skills to be heard and understood above Evan."
The plan is to check his bowel movements for a variety of "things," and then look into intolerance of gluten. Collecting poop for five containers isn't much fun. Even less fun is bringing Evan with me to the lab to drop of containers.
Not a happy camper.
He survived the first waiting area (check in) by me hanging him upside down. An older woman observing found it to be humorous. But when we went back to second waiting area, hanging upside down wasn't going to cut it anymore. So, we walked the hallway outside of the area--very open area--he still wasn't happy, but he did take a few breaks in expressing his displeasure.
I couldn't help but feel that some of those "eyes" inside the waiting room were thinking, "Obviously, that mother is clueless; what a bratty child."
While walking the hallway, we briefly talked with someone I know--she works in the office area of the hospital. She knows the family history, but I've never officially announced to her that Evan had FX, too. As she was talking to Evan, she said, "I know Monica." Monica was his speech therapist...yay, somebody in the hospital new he wasn't just a bratty child. Soon after she said that, though, he bit me in the shoulder! He's only done that a few times in his life. He did wave and say good-bye to her. He likes to say good-bye to people when we are somewhere he doesn't want to be. Only, this time, we weren't the ones that were leaving the area...she was.
When we got back to the van, I gave the I'm disappointed in your behavior speech. We don't scream when we go somewhere. When we got home, he got the same speech...then I cried, he felt badly, we hugged.
I don't know why I cried; well, part of it is that I cry easily. Part of it is the memory of giving the boys that same speech when they were younger; part of it is the realization that I'm doing it all over again...
My pitty-party only lasted 3 minutes, tops. All better!!!