A’s stomach and esophagus are just lovely. Gooey and slimey and everything intestines should be. Inflamed, yes, but they smiled when the doctor took the color pictures. So I now have 9 charming pictures for the scrapbook; hope I can find paper or stickers or something to do them justice. Glitter, perhaps.
My son is a hilarious drunk. Or, rather, he is extraordinarily amusing coming out of anesthesia. Let’s see…he banged his head at least twice on the railing trying to get out of bed…we gave him a popsicle and he practically shoved it up his nose…and what’s more fun than a precocious seven year old, still druggy, talking politics with the recovery nurse? I wish I were kidding.
So now we wait. Two weeks, as a matter of fact, because that’s the soonest I could get a follow-up appointment with the doctor, and he won’t go over the test results before then. I’m trying not to make a voodoo doll of him and just go with the flow. A will go back on the gluten-free diet, so at least his post-nasal snurking will end thankyouGOD! and I’ll chat with Dr. Google over the few preliminary results I do have. Unfortunately there was no neon “YES! I do have celiac!” or “NO! No room at the inn!” signs, so who the hell knows what’s going on. I suspect it’s going to be what my gut was telling me: no celiac, but something funky with him and gluten and then he’s off to my acupuncturist and I sell a kidney to afford both of us going there. You only need one, right? Even someone with a loooong history of plumbing problems? Right? The things we do for our kids…
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