You will have to excuse me, this is my first time doing this blogging thing. I've been thinking about it for a while, and just now getting up the "courage" to try it out. I am sitting here in Children's Hospital of Pittsburgh, with my oldest son for the umpteenth time and need a release for my feelings and emotions. So, I am going to start off with this introduction. It may take a few posts to get it all out, but bare with me if you want to know the whole story of my son and our life with Short Gut.
I am not artistic with my words, but I have a lot to say. To some it may not be interesting, but someone, somewhere, may find a shred of hope in it. I know I have searched for a year now and haven't found anything to help me out, so. . . maybe I can help another mother out there.
I have 2 very wonderful and beautiful boys. Waylon is 6 years old - born 08/14/2003- what a bright shining light he was to me when he came into this world. I was 30 years old when I found out I was pregnant! I never thought I would have children, and WOW was I surprised! Then 4 years and 2 days later -08/16/2007- I had Jeffrey. What can I say about the little imp that can always make me smile? He is the silly to Waylon's solomn. The laughter to Waylon's serious. It's so amazing the difference between these 2 boys. I am so head over heels in love with them both. When I was pregnant with Jeffrey I was so afraid, I didn't have any idea how I would ever be able to love 2 children. I mean I just loved Waylon so much, I didn't think it was possible to have any room left for another one. Oh, but I should have listened when everyone said, it will happen. Because it did.
We had a nice life, me and the boys. Then one night, our world changed forever. A night I never want to re-live and I would never want anyone to have to go through. It was a parents worse nightmare. We had had a nice day, it was Sunday, February 15, 2009, at 9:30 that night as I was sitting in my recliner watching Desperate Housewives. My beautiful little Waylon comes out of the bed room, with his pants down around his ankles, looking pale and ashen, totally disoriented. I asked him all of the obvious questions. Do you need to poop? Do you need to puke? What is wrong baby? And he just didn't know. He just knew his belly hurt. So we went to the bath room, he said he may need to poop, I helped him onto the commode and he proceeded to puke all over the rug. Strange thing, it was exactly the last thing he had eaten, not digested. That fact didn't register to me until MUCH MUCH later on. So I cleaned this mess up and he said I think I need to throw up again, I got him a bucket, and he sat on the commode and pooped but didn't throw up again.
By this time, he was crying, and knowing my son, I knew that something bad was wrong, Waylon had never been a crier or a complainer. So I called my parents who lived next door and said I was taking him to the ER, my dad came to watch Jeffrey and mom went to our local ER with me. We left the house about 10:00 that night. Waylon and I didn't go home for over 6 weeks.
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