There wasn't anything terribly dramatic about our visit to Riley today for the stomach-emptying test. I just got to put into practice the whole I-am-not-a-pushover-mama thing. That part was sort of great.
William needed to consume some kind of medicine so they could track via x-ray how fast it traveled through his stomach. They wanted to put it in milk. I said no, he has a sensitivity to milk. As if they'd never heard of such a thing, they said, well what did you bring with you? I said, bring? What do you mean 'bring?'
I suggested apple juice, but informed them William hasn't been drinking and the likelihood of him sucking down any kind of beverage at all in ten minutes was very, very low. They said they guessed they'd try to go track down some apple juice. Whatever.
Of course, the AJ didn't work. We offered it in a cup. A cup with a straw. A syringe. He said no, no, and no, pushing it away. I put the juice down and asked them what we should do, and they said we could...not do the test. I stared at them waiting for the next option because, as far as I'm concerned, that wasn't one. Then they said there was nothing else they could do short of putting a tube down his throat. I said, um, no.
I asked why we couldn't just give him eggs. They said that's a different test entirely. I said, that's what Dr. C described to me on the phone. They said, well, he ordered the liquid test. Get him on the phone and ask him to change it, then, I said.
They did. He changed it. There. And William ate those eggs, spooning them himself, in thirty seconds flat.
It was a long ordeal, which I was ready for. I had a friend with me who was exactly perfect for keeping me company at the hospital. While we waited for the next scheduled x-ray, she found a pleasant little outdoor courtyard where my nervous little boy and I could rock on a bench glider. I rocked him until he was comfortable enough to start pointing and shouting, "chicken!" at the water fountain. I'm still trying to figure that one out.
Anyway, she and I sat together and knit and talked. We talked about kids and mothering and masters' degrees and how cold it is in England. The only space we didn't cover at all was the hellish month of June we've suffered, and it made me feel shockingly human. I think it's all I've talked about this week, which I needed to do, but the change-up was a surprising comfort.
I got out a toy car to occupy William and I foolishly let it roll down the graduated arm of the chair. Right into the fountain. I squeezed back there and rescued it. And by the end of it, I'd nearly lost my stupid slippy little flat in the fountain, so I had to climb over the chair all awkwardly with my shoe dangling from my big toe, and she's laughing and William thinks...oh, who knows what William thinks, but it was a funny moment I didn't expect to have in a childrens' hospital.
End of the day, the test turned up nothing and we're back at square one, on a Friday. We have to wait two full days before we can move on any new theories the doctor might have, which will probably involve more trips to Riley. It's depressing.
But at least we did right by my son. And at least, thanks to my dear friend, I didn't go insane doing it.
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