DISCLAIMER: I am using pet names for privates in this post because there are creeps in the world and while we use the anatomical names at home, I’m using pet names here because I don’t want some John coming to my site looking for a good story, if you know what I mean.
It has been quite the week, let me tell you. It really all started with the realization that we were spending about $130 per week on gas and that our van just wasn’t cutting it for us anymore. Kyle finally admitted the family needed a safer, more cost-effective vehicle and we set out on a mission to purchase a new Mitsubishi Outlander. Tuesday the deal was made with a dealership in Daytona Beach, FL and they were going to deliver it to us the next day. Hallelujah, praise the Lord, thank you God.
But that night when Grady went poop, he said he had a hot dog poop and that it wouldn’t come out. I went into the bathroom and sure enough, it looked like a cooked and bitten Ball Park frank was trying to come out of his butt hole. Kid poop can be weird so I thought not much of it because 30 seconds later he wanted me to wipe him. I looked in the toilet and didn’t see the odd hot dog poop and thought maybe I was going insane, or he was some kind of weird constipated. I put him in the shower and closed the curtain.
When I got him out of the shower 8 minutes later, his “little buddy” was swollen to two times its normal size. I flipped the freak out. He wouldn’t let me touch it and said that it hurt. I put him in a bath with baking soda and let him soak while I tried to figure out what the heck to do. I eventually decided it would be OK to wait until the next morning and take him to a pediatrician. I got him ready for bed, did the routine, and said goodnight. When Kyle got home a few hours later, I got Grady up to go to the restroom and the head of his “little buddy” had grown to the size of a golf ball. Kyle touched it, pus came out, and it got a little smaller. Cool. Let’s go to bed.
Only I couldn’t go to bed. My spidey senses were tingling and I knew I needed to take my little man to the ER, so off we went. As it turned out, his foreskin had somehow separated from his “little buddy” in a 1cm spot and got really, really ticked off. They cleaned him up really well, gave him steroids for the swelling, an antibiotic for any infection, and an antifungal for any yeast. Fun times. I got home at 4am and wasn’t in bed until around 4:30. I then had to wake up at 6:30 to get Styles to school the next morning and to take care of a few things around the house. Not to mention a follow-up with a pediatrician for Grady’s “little buddy”, an oil change for the van, and the delivery of our new car.
I’ve been tired before, but I was TIRED. I could hardly tell you what my name was, and I couldn’t even muster the energy to be excited about the car that I’ve been waiting one whole year to receive. I ended up going to bed around 9 that night and slept until 7am.
Last night while Kyle was at work, Grady had to poop for the second or third time that day. He poops a lot and it’s always pretty loose stools, so this wasn’t entirely abnormal. What was abnormal was the emergence of that “hot dog poop” again. I flipped out a little bit when I saw it again, but thought perhaps he was just constipated (despite the fact that he had already pooped during the day), so I told him to sit there for a while and just let it work its way out.
Well, it did end up working its way out, only “it” wasn’t poop. I was fixing dinner for the kids when I heard Grady yelling from the bathroom that it wouldn’t come out OR go back in. I went into the restroom and there was a rosy red bulge about the size of a racquetball hanging out of his bottom. I did what all composed moms would do in this situation and I started screaming and running around in circles like a frightened cartoon. I took a few deep breaths and then composed myself. I needed to touch this thing. Surely it wasn’t an enormous turd?
I touched it.
It was not a turd.
Rewind, repeat screaming and running around like a cartoon.
I got Grady off of the toilet but he couldn’t stand up because he couldn’t get his legs close enough together thanks to this thing hanging out of his rear.
I picked him up by cupping the bulge in my hand and laying his shoulders over my other arm. I did a couple laps around the living room before deciding he needed to lay down in his bed. I laid him down (This is not a silent process, I’m screaming and crying and praying while running laps around the living room). I went into the bathroom to wash my hand, then tried to find my phone to call a doctor. As I’m dialing the number, this THING sucks back in and Grady starts yelling for me that it went back in, it went back in!
Meanwhile, I’m trying to feed Styles & Madilyn and prepare myself for another long night in the Emergency Room. I helped Grady get dressed then we bolted out the door leaving Styles and Madilyn to fend for themselves.
I was crying so hard the whole way to the hospital. I called Kyle to tell him what was going on and he did his best to calm me down. I was so grateful when he said he was going to go home to take care of Styles & Madilyn until we knew what was going on with Grady. I kept thinking about how my sweetest baby, this precious human that I love with every ounce of my being, the one that lights up my life when I’m down; was going to die. I just knew that his organs were falling out of his body and that something was seriously wrong with him.
When I got into the hospital doors, I broke down into a torrent of tears again and through the salty storm on my face and the sticky snot coming out of my nose, I was able to tell the lady that there was something coming out of my baby’s rectum. He was fine. I was not.
They got us back immediately and a super nice PA came in to check him out. His diagnosis was that Grady had suffered Rectal Prolapse. Don’t google it. Just don’t. And if you HAVE to google it, don’t look at the pictures. Just don’t. But if you HAVE to look at the pictures, just know that Grady’s was about the size of a racquetball and I held it in the palm of my hand.
Our only course of action was to go see a specialist in Pensacola which is a good 90 minute drive from our house and to give him fiber. In the meantime, if it were to happen again, I was to lie him down again and kind of gently coax the rectum back into its rightful throne.
You guys. I don’t do well with loose teeth let alone rectums hanging out of holes they aren’t meant to hang from. I left relieved that he was OK for the time being but so scared that it was going to happen again.
I called the specialist first thing this morning and his staff were so nice. They called him during surgery because of Grady’s issue, and he said he would squeeze us in today despite being booked for several weeks out. We made the trek to Pensacola and had a very interesting conversation with the doctor about the probable causes of Grady’s rectal prolapse.
I’ll tell you all about that visit, and the extra reasons I’m so emotional and exhausted in another post.
TO BE CONTINUED . . . PART TWO