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The dietitian’s accent is strong enough that I don’t catch every word and my voice is so low that he has to ask me to repeat myself. But the message was loud and clear: Deane had lost weight since coming out of the hospital and the dietitian is referring us to the g tube clinic. … Continue reading
I alternated between shouting and pleading. My son alternated his yelling between loud and louder. I was too frustrated to worry about the scene we were making. I’m sure we weren’t the first people to have such a showdown. I had taken Deane to see the therapy dogs that are brought into the hospital every … Continue reading
We need a win. That was the thought I came out of the meeting with all the staff involved in our son’s care. They went around the table and talked about the issues: his eating – or lack thereof; his hydration – through an NG tube they’re in no hurry to remove; his weight bearing … Continue reading
Today was a day about building on gains. The medical establishment isn’t happy with a spark here and peek there of the person before surgery. It wants you on solidly on the road back to your regular self with your regular routine. So today was about eating and drinking more. There really wasn’t much else on … Continue reading
I am not prone to happy dances. But then again, it’s been a rather unusual 10 days. What had me grooving by myself in my son’s hospital room was the sight of Deane slowly, stiffly raising his cup to his mouth and sucking back some milk. After a rough night in which Deane had been … Continue reading
The dietitian is on my case. He’s unhappy about how much my son weighs. In a country where childhood obesity is at epidemic levels, Deane is underweight. He is 14 but will soon be surpassed by his nine-year-old sister in both height and weight. Some of this might be genetic – I’m not exactly a giant … Continue reading
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