Moving on... Today we went to the Ear Nose and Throat specialist (ENT). Mr. Pants has had issues since he was born. Before we ever left the maternity ward with my lil bundle of Pants, I asked the doctor if the rattling sound in his sinuses was normal. I was told it was and that he would outgrow it. The rattling has never gone away and over the last three years, his symptoms have gotten worse. He snores like a fifty year old man, eats like a bird and there are about ten alphabet sounds that when he tries to make them he sounds like he's blowing his nose through them. The rest of his pronunciation sounds like it's coming out of his eyes and nose. The scariest revelation for me though, was about his sleep. I've written before about how poorly he slept as a baby. Waking every forty five minutes to an hour until he was eighteen months old. I'd always attributed that to his sensory issues. But then our doctor asked me if he ever stopped breathing at night. And a cold shot went through my veins. Oh my God. Was he actually stopping breathing? Yeah, we were going to the ENT and we would go to the best. So that's what we did today. And what follows is the play by play....
9:00 am - Arrive for our appointment. Mr. Pants bursts through the doors shouting "Hi GUYSTH!" to everyone waiting. When they do not respond back, he repeats his greeting to them all individually until they say hello back. I sign him in.
9:01 am - Booooooring. Mr. Pants does not care about the fish tank or the silly magnet boards meant to keep him happy. Instead he will begin circuit training and then do fifty laps around the waiting room. Somewhere around lap fifteen he is joined by a two year old boy with balance issues (poor thing was falling all over the place but loving every second of it) and another three year old boy. By lap thirty, two more kids have joined the race and my heart swells with pride that my son has become the Forrest Gump of the ENT's office race. I am also pretty sure that every single parent in the waiting room hates me for this. Such is life. Nobody is crying.
9:30 am - Plum is pissed. Pants is trying to rip the art of the walls and I have that look on my face like everything is Zen. But everything is not Zen and I want to start cussing out the staff and ripping the art off the walls alongside my son.
9:40 am - Let the great bathroom massacre of 2012 begin! Or at least I'm sure that's what it sounded like to the people on the other side of the door.
10:15 am - Yep. You read that right. An hour wait past our appointment time. As we head back, Pants asks me for the seven thousandth time if we are going camping. I remind him we are going to see the doctor and he says "You're Welcome". Um, ok?
10:16 am - Pants believes the nurse is trying to force him into an alternate dimension by asking him to "step on the scale". He doesn't budge and instead makes a break for it. But since he is in an unfamiliar environment, he trips and falls rounding the corner. Jumping up he yells, "I OK!!" and saunters back to be weighed. (note: this will be the last time he comes back on his own)
10:30ish am - Enter Dr. M. Plum is not cool with this. Not. At. All. She proceeds to lose her GD mind. A sweet nurse comes in to try and help her so that I can hold Mr. Pants for the exam. By the end, my ears are ringing and we are off to x-ray. Dr. M. proclaims his tonsils "extremely large" and has "no doubt" the x-ray will show his adenoids to be big too.
10:35-11:10 am - A blur of screaming children and hallway chases. When we finally get into x-ray, I experience a moment of extreme sadness trying to reassure Mr. Pants that no one would hurt him while he is being held down for an x-ray of his head while listening to Ms. Plum scream in the arms of the very sweet nurse on the other side of the door. I almost lose my cool with the x-ray tech who gets salty with me about holding him still. This is the second time in one week I have had to do this. It sucks. They are scared and I haven't been trained in this. And my kids are tiny Hulks. Like for realz. So why in the hell would any x-ray tech get salty with me for not knowing how to do it? Beats me. And I almost beat her. But alas, I did not. I just did my best to hold my crazy strong kid still for a picture of his face. However, it is entirely possible though that I shot dagger eyes right into hers. At which time she may have realized she was being an asshat and calmed down. Suddenly becoming the sweetest tech in the world. And we got the x-ray. Which turned out to be the creepiest picture of my child ever taken. And that's saying something because we have some dooozies. See for yourself below.
11:20 am - Re- enter Dr. M. His first words are, "He is going to be fine" and I know he's about to tell me that Pants needs surgery. And then he does. As he explains the x-ray to me, I see it. Loud and clear. His adenoids are completely blocking his airway and his tonsils are almost doing the same. Double whammy. Any infection or additional swelling is very dangerous for my boy. So they have to come out so that this kid can breathe normally, maybe even eat better (OMG YES!) and more importantly, well, you know I'm not typing that.
11:30 am - We are scheduling surgery and Plum wants to nurse. She lets me know this by attempting to climb into the topside of my shirt while smacking her lips like there's a cheeseburger in there. So I begin nursing her. She really needs it, poor thing. I'm nursing, I'm signing papers and scheduling surgery and feeling like a superhero when....Mr. Pants decides to kick things up a notch and add trespassing to his record. He breaks for the door, hurdles over the stroller that I thought would slow him down long enough but um, yeah, I'm an idiot. By the time I get Plum (who is crazy pissed to be pulled from her cheeseburger) back into the stroller and give chase, Pants has made it to the super secret file room. I see him staring at the miles of files. I can see with absolute clarity the plan forming to destroy these files. He's just figuring out how he wants to go about it. This buys me the few seconds I need to reach him. Hauling him back kicking and screaming, a worker says to me "You have your hands full" to which I want to say, "Way to state the obvious, jerk face" but I smile and say, "yeah, long day". I notice the guy then stations himself at the opening of the file room while I finish my paperwork and feel glad that I didn't snap at him. He is trying to help. I feel some shame for hating him.
11:45 am - Surgery is scheduled (we have to wait until July for the best surgeon) and we hit the fresh air of the open parking deck. It's over. We lived. I change Plum's diaper, nurse her some more (after strapping Pants into his seat, of course) and we hit the road for home. Two sleepy kids and one zoned out mama.
12:00 pm - Begin worrying about my baby boy having surgery.