Once upon a time, a teenage boy got sick. Influenza followed by infection followed by different infection all led to chronic stomach pain that just wouldn't end. Gastro-intestinal distress continued with no obvious source and no end in sight.
Weight loss. Teen boys are supposed to grow. This one shrunk. He got a little taller, but lost forty pounds over the course of six months.
Medicines changed. Subtracted antibiotics that might irritate, added probiotics that might soothe. Added expensive antacid that insurance willingly covered -- after the doctor called them and told them how much more costly the alternative would be.
Diet changed. No milk. No dairy at all for a while. Low fat, bland, and very careful monitoring of anything that increased pain and other symptoms.
No pizza. No ice cream. An entire summer without Dairy Queen. The start of football season without calling for pizza. Carefully perusing the high school's hot lunch menu each day to make educated decisions about what might be 'safe' for the hungry boy's tender tummy.
He didn't touch his Easter basket for fear the chocolate would worsen the stomach ache. He who used to down four frozen waffles in a sitting had trouble finishing one. He cut out his favorite refreshing beverages, afraid that carbonation and/or caffeine would activate the pain all over again.
The kid who loved school, zipped through the hallways with energy and excitement, had trouble getting out of bed in the morning. He needed more and more sleep but had less and less energy.
Tests galore ensued. He had blood drawn, peed in a cup, pooped in a box. All looked normal. Eventually he submitted to general anesthesia, took a scope down his throat and up into his colon, and waited for results.
Waited. Waited. Waited. And waited, and waited, and waited.
After the promised seven to ten days and a long week of phone tag that did no good for said teen's father's blood pressure, specialist finally called.
IBS. Irritable Bowel Syndrome. Essentially, it's what they call it when all else is ruled out.
So on we go. No celiac disease, no milk allergy. It's time to readjust the meds, gradually weaning him from the strongest and then the weakest of the cocktails until he's on his own, in a manner of speaking.
We could celebrate. It's not celiac disease, not a milk allergy, not diabetes. Stress adds to the pain, although it doesn't cause it. The worst possibilities have been ruled out.
But somehow, this doesn't seem like cause for celebration. It's more of an ongoing puzzle: what will hurt? What won't? How far can he go before it all starts again?
There are no answers. From now on, he'll question what he eats and how much he eats. Maybe eventually he'll stop worrying about food, and that will lessen the stress, which will lessen the additional pain.
And so it goes.
Weight loss. Teen boys are supposed to grow. This one shrunk. He got a little taller, but lost forty pounds over the course of six months.
Medicines changed. Subtracted antibiotics that might irritate, added probiotics that might soothe. Added expensive antacid that insurance willingly covered -- after the doctor called them and told them how much more costly the alternative would be.
Diet changed. No milk. No dairy at all for a while. Low fat, bland, and very careful monitoring of anything that increased pain and other symptoms.
No pizza. No ice cream. An entire summer without Dairy Queen. The start of football season without calling for pizza. Carefully perusing the high school's hot lunch menu each day to make educated decisions about what might be 'safe' for the hungry boy's tender tummy.
He didn't touch his Easter basket for fear the chocolate would worsen the stomach ache. He who used to down four frozen waffles in a sitting had trouble finishing one. He cut out his favorite refreshing beverages, afraid that carbonation and/or caffeine would activate the pain all over again.
The kid who loved school, zipped through the hallways with energy and excitement, had trouble getting out of bed in the morning. He needed more and more sleep but had less and less energy.
Tests galore ensued. He had blood drawn, peed in a cup, pooped in a box. All looked normal. Eventually he submitted to general anesthesia, took a scope down his throat and up into his colon, and waited for results.
Waited. Waited. Waited. And waited, and waited, and waited.
After the promised seven to ten days and a long week of phone tag that did no good for said teen's father's blood pressure, specialist finally called.
IBS. Irritable Bowel Syndrome. Essentially, it's what they call it when all else is ruled out.
So on we go. No celiac disease, no milk allergy. It's time to readjust the meds, gradually weaning him from the strongest and then the weakest of the cocktails until he's on his own, in a manner of speaking.
We could celebrate. It's not celiac disease, not a milk allergy, not diabetes. Stress adds to the pain, although it doesn't cause it. The worst possibilities have been ruled out.
But somehow, this doesn't seem like cause for celebration. It's more of an ongoing puzzle: what will hurt? What won't? How far can he go before it all starts again?
There are no answers. From now on, he'll question what he eats and how much he eats. Maybe eventually he'll stop worrying about food, and that will lessen the stress, which will lessen the additional pain.
And so it goes.
Oh, no. The poor kid. That dramatic weight loss: has he gained any of it back (or was it weight he could afford to lose)?
The thought of living with something like that, which affects something so fundamental as each bite that goes into your mouth, is so oppressing! Is he the sort of person who would seek out a support group? There have to be support groups for a chronic condition like that.
Beautifully written, Daisy.
Posted by: Ilona | November 13, 2008 at 07:04 AM
Ugh So sorry for him. I was a chronic IBS sufferer until I quit my job, now without stress there are only one or two foods that set me off. There is a great supplement at wal-mart I think just called irritable bowel relief that I took for a while that helped so much
Posted by: Audra | November 13, 2008 at 09:11 AM
ohhh, poor guy.
Posted by: the planet of janet | November 13, 2008 at 09:22 AM
Ilona -- he was a big guy, so he could afford to lose a little. His therapist called him a "string bean" a couple of weeks ago.
Audra -- we're working our way back into a "normal" diet; then we'll look to supplements. He takes acidophilus, a fairly strong dose.
Janet -- it's not fair, is it? Teenagers are supposed to be able to pig out.
Posted by: Daisy | November 13, 2008 at 07:27 PM
Whew! I feared Crohn's Disease. I know 3 teens recently diagnosed with it.
Aloe Vera juice is supposed to be helpful with irritated digestive systems. Worth a try...
Posted by: suburbancorrespondent | November 13, 2008 at 07:59 PM
Crohn's was one possibility, as was celiac. We were all relieved; I'd have a hard time going gluten free!
Posted by: Daisy | November 13, 2008 at 08:06 PM
After 2 years of stomach pain inclusing a trip to the ER, our insurance company finally agreed to send my 15 year old girl to the GI doc. Had to wait 6 weeks to get an appointment, have to drive 1.5 hours to get there. It's tommorrow. They have tried the IBS gambit with us - hope the GI doc doesn't do the same thing...Best of luck to your boy. I feel your pain.
Posted by: Susan | November 13, 2008 at 10:06 PM
Our major hospital is also about 2 hours away. We've decided that although the doctor seems good, it's not worth the long ride there. We'll have the general family doc handle the rest.
Posted by: Daisy | November 14, 2008 at 07:36 PM