You wanna know what Mr. Stinky Pants' bowel movements and horror movies have in common?!?
Really, really bad sequels. And threequels. And let's not take it further than that.
Effin' A, man.
Back in April, I blogged about my dear, sweet son, Mr. Stinky Pants and his unholy bowel movements and breath.
We received a dx of giardia, cryptosporidium and a (gag) tapework from rat feces.
We treated with a cocktail of pharmacological wonders.
The tapeworm, we're happy to say, has left the building.
Best not to picture that.
The giardia test, we were told, came back clear.
Yeah, uh huh, whatev.
Mama's intuition and sense of smell prevailed.
Something was rotten in Denmark, and by Denmark, I mean Mr. Stinky Pant's intestines.
Earlier this week, I called the pediatrician to double check on his most recent stool sample.
All clear! I was told by an annoyingly chipper nurse. Clearly, none of her children ever had giardia.
"Ummm, I'm thinking it's sticking around, because my lord, it's like an exorcism in the bathroom several times a day at our house,"
I'm guessing the nurse did not appreciate my honestly graphic descriptor. "Huh," the chipper nurse said. "I'll call you back."
She calls back with a plan to see a pediatric GI specialist. Who is in Milwaukee. Because GB doesn't have one. And Milwaukee is 2 hours away.
No problemo. A bunch of schedule re-working, and my boy and I were on our way this morning.
The specialist walks in and announces: "So, why aren't you treating your son for giardia?"
Say what? I tell him what the ped's office tells me, and he points to the test results. All I see are "Giardia" and "POSITIVE," with the POSITIVE being in all capital letters.
Now, I'm pretty sure POSITIVE isn't secret code for something else. I'm kinda an expert in secret code (like when my kids say to his siblings: "Hey guys! Watch our Old Mama dive off the diving board! I didn't know old mama's can do that!" I know that the secret code for Old Mama is Smoking Hot Buff Woman Who You Would Never Guess Has 5 Kids. Right? Right! It's like I majored in it or something. Not really. It just comes naturally.)
So, we end up with an aggressive treatment plan for this whole gross giardia business, all done in the comfort of a (pretty cute) specialist's office only 121 miles away from home despite the fact that the testing was done in the comfort of an office only 5 miles away from my home. But whatever. The plan is aggressive, and we're ready for action.
Which, in the end (and for Mr. Stinky Pant's (rear) end), is all that matters.
You have to forgive me for all my juvenile butt jokes. It's kinda hard to stop myself because laughter is the only way to survive such grossness.
But you know what? I actually found a huge silver lining in all of this.
My poor kid has had giardia, a highly, nastily contagious condition, in my home for 23 months.
And no one else has caught it.
Clearly, my house is way cleaner than my mother thinks. Boo-yah!