Dreamseekers and Company

In which I bash commercial feeding products:

Daniel has a feeding tube. That means his food bypasses his mouth. When it comes to nutrition… that is about all that’s pertinent, so far as I can tell. Well, you ask a Gastroenterologist or a dietitian and so far as I can tell, to them it means that the child suddenly has unusual dietary requirements that must be met with a special formula and regular appointments to weigh the child and adjust his “feeds.” This alone seems frustrating and unneccesary since Daniel doesn’t have any sort of GI disorder. We’re only on their radar, because he arrived in the country constipated. The malnourishment and dehydration is something I know how to work with. And I’m thrilled to have the use of a ng tube to help us towards health. But I went to his follow-up appointment today and learned very little. Except that they want me to put formula down his tube instead of food.

I looked at the formula. I don’t like it. I don’t understand why they love it. First of all, it’s produced by Nestle. You got that right – the same place that sells candy bars. It’s not a good sign. Then, I heard that kids (and adults) struggle to eat it as a meal and need it dripped continuously so that they don’t get nauseous. Umm…. that’s not a good sign. And then I read the ingredients. Let me give you a little comparison in the nutrition information between… a Snickers bar and one can of the formula:
Total fat: 11g vs. 12.4g
Total Carbohydrate 28g vs 27.5g
Protein 3g. vs 7.5g

Wellllll, you say, maybe the carbohydrates in the formula are healthy carbs, whereas the carbs in the Snickers are primarily sugar. Here are the first three ingredients of Nutren Jr.: Water, Maltodextrin, Sugar

I have the can right here in front of me. No joke! It’s like fortified sugary cereal… it might give you nutrition, but with a huge sugar punch! Gross.

(sigh)

So his GI and dietitian weren’t thrilled that we didn’t want to feed this to him. And they were uncomfortable that I’m feeding my child food. And they want me back in a month so that they can weigh him and adjust his feeds accordingly.

I don’t want to go.

So now that I’m home, I’m going to work on Daniel’s meals… making sure I have healthy meals for him with adequate or high levels of calories and NUTRITION. And I know some people are going to be uncomfortable with me choosing to feed my son FOOD. And that just confuses me. If you’re a pro-formula person (not because it’s convenient, but because you believe it’s healthy) then tell me this – if you lost the ability to chew tomorrow, would you like chili and cornbread pumped into your tummy with that feeling of warm happiness… or would you like a can of vanilla Nutren to burp and taste and feel nauseous on for the next few hours? Which one do you think would improve your quality of life?

Why do dietitians like this stuff?!??!???

A few things I want to share after yesterday’s blog post…

Brian came home early and I went for a walk/jog and it lifted the emotional weight quite a bit.
I woke up this morning and wondered if I had made up all that stuff yesterday.
By late morning, I could taste it again and as the day continues, the battle for my thoughts and emotions becomes more pitched.
I am not surprised by any of this… but it doesn’t exactly make it easier.

The physical and emotional strain of adoption is real and it takes its toll. It’s completely worth it. Every bit. We’re only doing what we’d want done for ourselves if we were in our kids’ shoes. Actually, we’re doing less than that, but we’re trying to do what we can. We don’t have any regrets and we don’t feel particularly special or noble or anything for being parents. Daniel needed a family. We needed a Daniel. But love and relationships aren’t born in a moment. Neither is learning to live together. Throw in some medical and health challenges, jet lag, doctors orders and the usual life stresses of being the “adult” in a house full of children and… well, you can see, perhaps, why my emotional stability is gone.

I am proud of us. I am proud of me. I am proud of Daniel. I’m proud of Anna, Jordan, Maggie and Carolyn. We can do hard things.

And sometimes we crash and burn.

So here I sit, in the middle of my brokeness and I want to thank each of you who have commented, prayed and offered help. I am accepting help. I am so grateful. You all spoke words of truth and solidarity to me when my mind couldn’t hear it. It hurt. It still does. I’ll keep taking one step at a time and one day at a time. One meal at a time. One diaper at a time. It’s step by step to the other side where the whole world isn’t consumed by the present moment.

That’s it. Clarity over!

This post is kinda raw. It’s where I’m at.

After two weeks halfway around the world trying to keep my new son out of the hospital, one week on at home in the hospital away from my family and then a week at home trying to figure out how to feed Daniel through a tube, I am struggling. The energy has crashed, the stress made its mark, and my other children haven’t miraculously become angels who are always kind, hard-working, and obedient.

I’m having trouble putting thoughts together. I’m fighting under a blanket of depression that tells me I’ve already failed. (Doesn’t seem to matter that I argue with that) I’m discouraged. I’m hurting. I’m angry. I’m grieving. I’m tired.

Daniel is obsessed with his cords and has little use for me in his heart. He tantrums if I put him in a chair, so he has not joined us for dinner (or any other meal), won’t try his wheelchair and flips out in a stroller. He doesn’t have language of any kind and that he will probably learn is only cold comfort to my grief as I see his tiny four year old body and know what should have been. I’m keeping track of his foods on a chart that I made… it’d look good in a doctor’s office. I don’t feel joy in having to chart his foods. And I’m constantly worried about him becoming dehydrated or constipated again. His tube leaks at the port where I put food in, so he smelled like vomit all day yesterday until I taped one port shut and rubber banded the rest to clinch it. It looks horrible.

Jordan is bored. I try to teach Anna lessons in school and she cries that I’m chastising her and runs crying to her room. I try to help Maggie through her chores and she cries because she’s hungry because it’s taking her hours to do a 20 minute chore list. Carolyn doesn’t hear anything I say and is constantly asking me questions about what I just said. I’m tired. I’m just so tired and I don’t have the peppy, positive solution to all this. It feels like everybody becomes unhappy whenever I touch their lives.

I’m fighting through this. I am believing that it’s going to get better. I know that thoughts coming from a depressed place are not thoughts to listen to. This is just a difficult season and I’m having a hard time finding a way through it. But I will. We will. I am not sharing this for a response. I’m sharing it for me. Because I need to put it down. And maybe my daughters will read it sometime years from now and understand that everybody struggles, but not to give up.

My view earlier.

Just popping in to say that things are going well and this little guy is relaxing a bit and sleeping well at night.

Here’s the cute little chatterbox this morning:

This is the bulk of an email I sent to a sweet friend after she visited us. It was one of the first times I’ve seen Daniel through another’s eyes and it stung my heart in both good and hard ways, because my friend’s eyes are eyes full of love and acceptance. Anyway – with many introductions in the future, I thought I’d just go ahead and share this email here too:

When you came to bring me the baby carrier and a hug, I had been looking forward to seeing you. I wanted to introduce to you and show you my treasure, my newly adopted Bulgarian boy, the little boy for whom I’ve crossed oceans. I’m proud of him. He’s beautiful. He’s easy to love. He’s full of potential. You’ve loved him and supported him from a distance and I was looking forward to that introduction.

But then the brokenness of adoption and his first years pushed themselves into the front. I walked into the room where he was with you and saw his tiny pale body and I was shocked again by his smallness and clear lack of health. I thought to introduce him, but remembered that he is not ready for introductions. I watched him knock things on his teeth and lay on his back and wished I could show you the other parts of him, but those sweet insides of his heart are protected and will bloom when they’re ready, not on command.

So it was a meeting of love and a meeting of grief when you came. Thank you for loving us through both. Daniel is a very loved tiny boy and I’m lucky to be forefront to watching him learn and heal.