Sometimes, I wonder, it is that hard to explain the difference between “can’t poop” and “won’t poop” to medical professionals?
I mean, really?
Yes, we’re dealing with Maura not wanting to poop again. Which leads to accidents and disgusting laundry and frustrations with those who are supposed to be “in the know” – aka medical professionals.
When I say “Maura won’t poop”, they are quick to go “Oh, here, stool softeners.”
No. We don’t need those. We need something else.
“Oh…um…have you tried giving her lots of fruit?”
I’ve tried explaining it six ways to Sunday – it’s a sensory thing, she holds it, you can see her little face turn red as she tries not to poo. She doesn’t like the feel of pooping, all the stool softeners in the world isn’t going to help that. Not really. I know because we’ve tried. It just means worse accidents and her still holding it in, and watching her like a ticking time bomb after a week of Miralax and nothing to show for it.
You have no idea how scary that is.
While in Ireland, we did find something that worked, liquid Dulcolax. We could give her just enough to stimulate things on the inside and she’d poop. It was great. She actually starting going more on her own and then suddenly, we thought we’d hit the end of the tunnel – she went weeks without needing any medicinal help to poo.
But then we hit a new tunnel.
And we found out that there is no liquid Dulcolax in the U.S.
(Yes, there’s pills, but try teaching the girl not to chew a little candy-like item.)
This led to talking to the pharmacist (because apparently, no good laxatives come in liquid form), Irish friends tried finding liquid Dulcolax for us, but failed (because yes, this became an international incident), and then more calls between pharmacist and doctor and me explaining that Maura can’t take pills.
We finally were given a prescription for liquid senna. Once a day for 30 days. Last night was the first dose.
This morning, I heard “Mom, Maura broke the toilet again.”
Here’s to leaving this tunnel behind and getting back to being more regular. Because my hands can only take so much scrubbing down before I start losing skin.
And thus ends another segment of “The Harsh Realities of Being a Special Needs Parent – The Poop Chronicles.” Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to find the plunger.