grrlTravels

progress is progress, fast or slow

The therapists at feeding therapy are happy. "Z. is doing great!" they tell me and smile at us. "She is making such good progress. We are very pleased."

In this case progress means that Z. will accept into her mouth (I really think it should be oral cavity, but I'm leaving it mouth) tiny amounts of various pureed foods in the extremely controlled setting of the outpatient clinic of the local hospital where we go for her sessions. She will also tolerate the nuk brush and the chew tube in her mouth for fractions of a second at a time.

Sadly, my primary goals for Z. and the feeding therapists' are complementary but dissimilar. Here is a Venn diagram for your perusal:

I am red. They are yellow. Orange is where we do the happy dance of shared goals.

I have been given the task of bringing in foods that we normally eat at home, cooked and pureed for Z. to try. I am not to bring in anything she already accepts. I'm going to let you in on a little secret: our repertoire is seemingly limited. Another secret: we don't ever eat creamed corn. Note to therapists: There AREN'T Any Other Foods Which We Regularly Eat Which When Pureed Are Not The Consistency of Wallpaper Paste Or Simply Utterly Disgusting.

I am still all about calories. Calories are da bomb in our house. Calories are king. (Even for me—see previous entry for more info.) They are all about new textures and new flavors and chewing. All very good things. Can't argue with those. But when I have to choose between giving Z. a dinner of pureed veggies (calories: 5) or the old standby (McDonald's full fat, full sugar yogurt, calories: 130) I don't actually give feeding therapy a second thought.

It is constant push-pull with me and Z. and the therapists. I have not been able to get off the calories / feeding tube / vomiting / failure to thrive roller coaster. I boarded right after that first fateful vomit during our very first breakfast with Z., even if I didn't quite realize it at the time. I've been riding it ever since. I must confess I'm a bit fatigued by the vomit-inducing thrillingness after all this time. The roller coaster also means I find it so very, very difficult to give creamed corn and mashed fresh fruit and brothy soup the attention they deserve.

Progress is sometimes hard to see when you are flying by at 60 mph heading for the triple loop one more time. Thank goodness the professionals are standing on solid ground.

These are MY feelings about feeding therapy. I do understand that she is making progress and that each step is important and worthy of celebration. I am not frustrated with the process. (Mostly.) Some days the absurdity of it hits me. Some days it doesn't.

And Z., Z., she is a trooper. All of her therapists tell me that she is a very hard worker. She sits there and does as they ask to the best of her ability. It makes my heart swell to watch her. She tastes and bites and licks and swallows. She also grimaces and flinches and shudders, but she gets through it. She's pretty amazing. And she smiles at the end and says, "Thank you, Miss L. Bye bye Miss L."