Families Are Like Fudge-Mostly Sweet and a Few Nuts!

The Peppermint Poot

April 9, 2009 at 2:39 am (Uncategorized) (babies, motherhood, NICU, poop)

Okay, here’s another story about my son, and those of you keeping tabs, nope, he’s still only got one down there.  :)  My son was 10 weeks premature, and we were very fortunate that after the initial two days or so, he was doing great.  He just needed to grow so he could come home.  Having a child in the NICU still can have its funny moments, like the baby spraying down the inside of the isolette the second you open his diaper, or how he’d put his little arms up like he was saying “YAY!”  when I told him his breast milk was from the Mexican we had last night.   Even at this early stage of his life, my son was already making his mark on the world.  In those early days,  he was living in the most expensive hotel room ever with the most expensive babysitting staff ever, in the NICU.  His world was his little plastic isolette, keeping him safe and warm.  After a week or so, I came into his room one day, and there was a small plastic ziploc bag taped on his isolette.  I walked up closer to look at it, and I got the smell of peppermint.  I asked one of the nurses what was up with that, and she said that my son had wicked smelling poop.  The nurses would lay the peppermint pouch on top of the isolette, and smell that instead of his noxious diaper fillings.  I rolled my eyes, and told the nurse that if I was locked up in a heated plastic box with my own farts being cooked in there, I might not smell that great either.  Knowing how ridiculous hospitals are about charging 10.00 for a tylenol, I began to wonder how much a piece of gauze with peppermint oil was covered for on the insurance.  They had recently upped him to a richer type of formula, and apparently, his colon was rebelling in the only way it could.  The NICU nurses encouraged both of us to participate in my son’s care, and the next time he had fudged a huggie, it was my turn to change him.  Part of the deal was to put the newly filled diaper on a scale and weigh it, so they could see how much he was putting out.  It wasn’t until I pulled the diaper out of the isolette that the stench hit me.  Okay, I understand the peppermint pouch now.  My husband looked on almost proudly as they put my son’s used diaper in a BioHazard bag and put it in the trash so it could no longer foul the entire NICU.  My son had driven a respiratory therapist, and cat scan technician, and a resident from the room with a warning to the nursing staff that something has died in my son’s pants.  Soon my son was moved to the intermediate care unit, ready  to go home in about a week.  No matter how many times they changed his formula, his poo still smelled like a skunk that crawled out the ass of another dead skunk.  They took numerous samples and tested it, trying to figure out what this stinky child’s problem was.  No answers there, his poo just stunk like a champ!  Still, the diaper-filled BioHazard bags raised the eyebrows of the janitorial staff as they emptied the trash each day.  They’d look at my son, wondering if his butt was having a nuclear meltdown or something.  The doctors at this hospital worked in teams, so your doctor would change every few weeks or so.  The doctor doing his discharge examination was a young, completely gorgeous Austrian doctor.  He asked if I had any concerns about my son before discharging him, and I said no.  I could tell that he was uncomfortable with the next topic he had to bring up.  Now, imagine the voice of Arnold Schwarzenegger (it’s nawt a tumah), saying that the nurses expressed a concern about the odor of my son’s stools.  He said they tested him, and no problems were found.  Dr. Gorgeous looks over his glasses at me, and asks me if I am concerned about dee odah of his poooo.  I said not really, and I added that no one should expect it to smell like roses.  He’s fine now, and he doesn’t clear a room when he breaks wind.  Although, it must just be the nature of the male psyche to flash a little devious smile after tooting loud enough for everyone to hear.  Even  when he sleeps, he farts and does this little sigh, like he’s all pleased with himself.  Of course, my husband still jokes that all that nasty gas probably melted his other ball.  He’s alright now though- there’s no need to call the HazMat team to pick up his diapers.