Life and health are such surprises. I like mine calm and healthy. I'm no drama queen; I take no delight in telling tales of things gone wrong. So it was like entering another universe to be told by Amelia's pediatrician that she had lost two pounds between four and six months, and that this was a very serious thing.
I know her body had changed. She was a large and chunky newborn. I noticed her body slimming down. But well, like most parents, I just assumed she was thinning out, as some babies do. I was shocked to learn she had lost body weight.
The doctor went into full gear. At four months, facing a big baby, she said to hold off on solids till six months. At six months, she sent me home with directions to get some Earth's Best rice cereal right away and start solids immediately.
Ten days later we were back for a weight check, and the baby had gained a few ounces, but enough to change her on the charts. She went from the 95th percentile for baby weight, to the 3d, and a few ounces weren't enough to change that. I was beginning to understand how serious it was, but here's the crazy thing: Amelia wasn't in any pain or distress. She continued to be her happy, smiling self. Only, the doctor claimed that her muscle tone was a bit floppy, and this together with the weight loss concerned her greatly.
I must mention that my older daughter is so healthy that we've never even seen the inside of an emergency room.
I agreed to let the doctor do some blood and urine tests. She convinced me that whereas it can be okay when babies slow their rate of growth, losing weight is very distressful. She even gave her happy baby the diagnosis "failure to thrive."
Honestly, in part I couldn't believe it, and in part I couldn't take it. I'd never before faced any health problem that squarely. The tests were done, and two days later when I returned, the doctor was concerned enough about the odd results that she sent us to the local Children's Hospital where a senior pediatric diagnostic team could take a look and figure out what was wrong.
I couldn't believe it. I couldn't imagine that this was happening. The doctor wanted me to go immediately. I kept finding reasons I needed to stop off home (which I did, but quickly, deciding that a toothbrush and a book and a change of clothes would be welcome), and I drove across town and checked us in. Pretty soon, we were surrounded by medical students and residents and doctors, not to mention some of the nicest nurses on the planet. My friend Andi's husband stopped by, he's a fellow at the same hospital and helped us make sense of what was going on.
At first they thought that somehow, Amelia's body wasn't processing calories well. We worried about all sorts of dread diseases. They checked out her muscle tone, and ticked the bottoms of her feet. I had to feed her every few hours, which she enjoyed until the next morning, when basically, she closed her mouth and refused all food, sated. At 10 am, the whole team gathered for grand rounds. The medical student presented her case. And very dramatically, right at the end, the resident who had been staffing the wireless laptop announced that the urine culture was in. And positive. They had their answer!
We had been told that in these cases, 90 percent are resolved by just getting the baby to eat more food and take in more calories. 5 percent are caused by silent urinary tract infections, and 5 percent are the result of metabolic and neurological diseases, a whole array that, well, senior diagnostic teams like this one know how to track. We knew we were feeding her enough. We feel very lucky that our daughter's "failure to thrive" fell into the category that is easily rectified by a round of antibiotics.
And now we're home. All this was traumatic. For several days I kept replaying in my head the scene of driving to the hospital, sure she had some rare liver disease and was on her last days, and life was terrible. That has stopped. My older daughter was a trooper, and the day after Amelia came home, when she was napping that afternoon, Samira and I traipsed around town doing errands, which meant lots of nice car-time to talk. I let her know that the baby was okay, that it's normal to be scared. Meanwhile Amelia's dad feeds her, watches her eat, watches her baby cheeks puff out, and reassures himself that she's okay.
I know her body had changed. She was a large and chunky newborn. I noticed her body slimming down. But well, like most parents, I just assumed she was thinning out, as some babies do. I was shocked to learn she had lost body weight.
The doctor went into full gear. At four months, facing a big baby, she said to hold off on solids till six months. At six months, she sent me home with directions to get some Earth's Best rice cereal right away and start solids immediately.
Ten days later we were back for a weight check, and the baby had gained a few ounces, but enough to change her on the charts. She went from the 95th percentile for baby weight, to the 3d, and a few ounces weren't enough to change that. I was beginning to understand how serious it was, but here's the crazy thing: Amelia wasn't in any pain or distress. She continued to be her happy, smiling self. Only, the doctor claimed that her muscle tone was a bit floppy, and this together with the weight loss concerned her greatly.
I must mention that my older daughter is so healthy that we've never even seen the inside of an emergency room.
I agreed to let the doctor do some blood and urine tests. She convinced me that whereas it can be okay when babies slow their rate of growth, losing weight is very distressful. She even gave her happy baby the diagnosis "failure to thrive."
Honestly, in part I couldn't believe it, and in part I couldn't take it. I'd never before faced any health problem that squarely. The tests were done, and two days later when I returned, the doctor was concerned enough about the odd results that she sent us to the local Children's Hospital where a senior pediatric diagnostic team could take a look and figure out what was wrong.
I couldn't believe it. I couldn't imagine that this was happening. The doctor wanted me to go immediately. I kept finding reasons I needed to stop off home (which I did, but quickly, deciding that a toothbrush and a book and a change of clothes would be welcome), and I drove across town and checked us in. Pretty soon, we were surrounded by medical students and residents and doctors, not to mention some of the nicest nurses on the planet. My friend Andi's husband stopped by, he's a fellow at the same hospital and helped us make sense of what was going on.
At first they thought that somehow, Amelia's body wasn't processing calories well. We worried about all sorts of dread diseases. They checked out her muscle tone, and ticked the bottoms of her feet. I had to feed her every few hours, which she enjoyed until the next morning, when basically, she closed her mouth and refused all food, sated. At 10 am, the whole team gathered for grand rounds. The medical student presented her case. And very dramatically, right at the end, the resident who had been staffing the wireless laptop announced that the urine culture was in. And positive. They had their answer!
We had been told that in these cases, 90 percent are resolved by just getting the baby to eat more food and take in more calories. 5 percent are caused by silent urinary tract infections, and 5 percent are the result of metabolic and neurological diseases, a whole array that, well, senior diagnostic teams like this one know how to track. We knew we were feeding her enough. We feel very lucky that our daughter's "failure to thrive" fell into the category that is easily rectified by a round of antibiotics.
And now we're home. All this was traumatic. For several days I kept replaying in my head the scene of driving to the hospital, sure she had some rare liver disease and was on her last days, and life was terrible. That has stopped. My older daughter was a trooper, and the day after Amelia came home, when she was napping that afternoon, Samira and I traipsed around town doing errands, which meant lots of nice car-time to talk. I let her know that the baby was okay, that it's normal to be scared. Meanwhile Amelia's dad feeds her, watches her eat, watches her baby cheeks puff out, and reassures himself that she's okay.