We’re finally reaching the end of what can only be described as our own personal hell on earth. You may think I’m being dramatic. And I am. But at times it certainly felt like it. I am talking, of course, about constipation.
It all began a long, long time ago with silent reflux. Our paediatrician at the time decided to combat this by prescribing Omeprazole along with specially-formulated anti-regurgitation milk. The milk was an attempt to stop the reflux, and the Omeprazole tried to limit the damage if and when it did occur. This combination helped but brought with it an added complication – constipation. Our girls suddenly couldn’t, er, commune with nature in the normal sense, instead they were trying to pass golf balls through a system designed to process marbles. Things were so bad that they began to develop what our specialist termed ‘fissures’ – basically, fine and painful cuts in the, er, delivery outlet.
It was brutal. Mrs H spent hours trying to coax hazardous waste from our triplets’ perfect little bums. She tried every trick, casting spells, using glycerine, massaging the right areas, selling her soul, exercising their legs. The combination usually worked in the end, with a golf ball-sized snake’s head eventually emerging alongside teary eyes and guttural grunts.
This went on for a few weeks with no help from our paediatrician until we decided to see a specialist. He prescribed Forlax (the adult version) which helped turn their, er, logs into liquidy twigs.
The end result of all this was an expensive combination of medicine that had to be given each and every morning, and a more expensive version of milk formula for each feed.
Here we are, many months later, and over the period of 3-4 weeks, we’ve successfully removed the Omeprazole from the equation, moved to a normal progress milk and gradually reduced the Forlax from 7.5g to 1g every morning. We’ve tried removing the Forlax in the past without success, with any reduction of more than 1g resulting in golf ball-sized lumps of coal. But what we didn’t know is that Omeprazole acts as a poop coagulant. Nobody thought to tell us this. You can’t remove one without removing the other.
Our success has had no obvious complications. Except one. Every time they ‘smile in the morning’ or ‘launch a torpedo’, it stinks the entire house out. Even the family dog, who spent her early years eating the poo of other dogs for snacks (yeah, she’s a real classy girl), doesn’t stick around to enjoy the aroma.
There was a time when we thought we’d never see the back of reflux. Then a time when we thought we’d never see the end of constipation. Then a time when we thought Omeprazole and Forlax would be around forever.
Yet here we are. Our girls are finally free of reflux and constipation, and their morning drug cocktail now consists of just vitamins and other supplements.
The downside is that the neighbouring village has begun a petition to have us evicted from the planet due to the noxious smells, and the United Nations no longer responds to reports of toxic waste in western Europe.
Our girls are happy. We’re happy.
In other news, they’re all walking. Alicia zips about like a woman possessed, Laura runs but can only manage to do so while doing ‘jazz hands’, and Ana’s just beginning to take a few steps. Perhaps I should have written about that instead.
I’m genuinely torn about which I’m more happy about – walking or the end of Forlax!