Warning: Not graphic, but scatological.
Some of you may be aware that Quinn has some…issues…with constipation. It is something we’ve been dealing with since he was probably three months old.
We recently enlisted the help of a GI specialist who, at Quinn’s first appointment, sent me home with instructions to give Quinn four teaspoons of Milk of Magnesia every day for three days, which I, of course, interpreted as “give Quinn four tablespoons of Milk of Magnesia every day for three days.
Fortunately, I figured out my mistake after one epic dose.
At his first followup appointment last week, the doctor said that Quinn looked a lot better and that his stomach seemed to be all cleaned out. No kidding, four tablespoons.
However, this visit ended with the doctor giving me different instructions. She told me to collect a stool sample to check for…something. I have no idea what, because my mind got stuck on “collect a stool sample,” and didn’t hear anything that happened after that. It’s possible she told me to dance a jig and hop out of the office on one foot for all I know.
Because in my head? “Stool…ool…ool…Sample…ample…ample…”
I was a little concerned to see the equipment that the doctor sent home with me.
I think she forgot some stuff. Fortunately, I had the necessary supplies at home.
I was given a reprieve after his Thursday appointment though, because he didn’t poop until it was too late to take a sample in to the lab before the long weekend. Then yesterday I missed my opportunity.
The problem is that I knew I could “miss my opportunity” kinda on purpose for weeks, so today when Quinn was headed to the bathroom I asked what he was going to do. He swore he was just going to pee so I didn’t, you know, prepare.
I should have. That little sneak. He pooped, followed by his standard “MOOOOOOOOMMMMM!!! I POOOOOOOOOPED!!!”
Quinn, you are going to have to learn to wipe someday.
I’m not going to go into a lot of details because I can’t really bear to relive it. Needless to say, it started with a lot of anguished flapping of my hands, continued with some encouraging self talk (“okay, you can do this”), spent a long time in the loud retching phase, and finished with the enclosing of the poop in three separate layers (cup, Ziploc, paper bag) for its eventual trip to the lab.
Quinn was a little concerned about the retching and tried to come up with a positive reason why I might be doing it. “Are you making that noise because you’re proud I pooped so much?”
Sure, Quinn. That’s it.
I’m just glad I didn’t puke all over it and have to start all over tomorrow.
To Future Quinn: I am sorry for this post. Very sorry.