Learning to Swallow Pills and Appetite

 

    In the winter of 1986-1987, between 4 and 5 years old, I had gotten sick again. Right before Easter, my parents brought me in for a checkup. The doctor allowed me to go back home to enjoy the holiday but told my parents I would need to be admitted once again. On Easter, I woke up at 4 am and vomited. I managed to get through the day. I was admitted the very next day. My experience was similar to the first one.

    About two or so years later, I was finally ready to take on the challenge of learning to swallow my pills. Up to this point I had been consuming chewable vitamins. My vitamin E was a separate pill that my mom would have to pierce and squeeze into my mouth.  As for my pancreatic enzymes, I would open the capsule and pour the contents into a small medicine cup, and swallow that with a swig of water or juice. Some of my other medicines were liquid. Once I finally gave it a try, I realized there was nothing to it. I remember my reward for this big achievement was the pile of treats on top of the microwave that had accumulated from all the cereal boxes my siblings and I had eaten over several months. I remember sharing some of my bounty with my siblings. I was very proud of myself, and so was my family. I can now take a handful of pills with just one small swig of water.

    As a child, I was never really hungry. For breakfast, I usually ate a small portion of cereal, or I had some oatmeal. For lunch, during the summer or on weekends, I often ate a spoonful of peanut butter or one single slice of American cheese. This was similar to what I ate before I started school. At dinner time, my family and I would eat together. I could only eat a tiny amount of my food. My mother would have me stay at the table long after my other family members had left. This never persuaded me to eat anything more than I already had eaten. I would get bored and always ended up lying down across two or three chairs. After a half hour, my mother usually let me leave the table. I remember I used to hide my meat under my mashed potatoes when no one was looking.  My mom always told me to eat my meat for protein, I wasn't forced to finish my vegetables. I remember my grandmother visiting one night and giving a small milk carton like the ones you get at school.  She went to the back room to talk to my mom and I put all my meat into the milk carton, went to the bathroom, and threw it in the trash. To help me gain weight, I had to have a scoop of a powdered supplement, called Polycose, added to some of my drinks. On some occasions, it was also added to my cereal. I remember not liking the way it made things taste, and I was always tried to get out of it. When I was really young, I had to drink 16 oz of milk before I was allowed to drink any apple juice. The 16 oz of milk was measured out in a container each day to keep track of how much milk I had left to drink. I much preferred apple juice, and never cared to drink the milk first, not even when it was in the form of chocolate milk. I was jealous that my siblings didn’t have the same requirements. In elementary school, I struggled to eat all the lunch my mom would pack for me. Her friend, the one that had accompanied her to my first CF appointment, worked as an aide in the lunchroom during my lunchtime. My mother would have her check my lunch box after lunch was over every day. I did my best to eat what I could, but I never finished my whole lunch. During these elementary school years, I would go to the nurse when it was lunch time. She would then give me my enzyme and I would go to lunch from there. There would be occasional delays in getting my medicine for any number of reasons. On one occasion my nurse was absent, and there was no one to give me my enzymes. By the time they found someone qualified to give it to me, I had missed my lunch. I had to eat by myself during what would have been my recess. When I went to middle school, I started to bring my enzymes with me in my lunch bag so I did not have to go to the nurse. Although technically, I was not supposed to do that, I had too many lunchtime interruptions and my parents and I agreed it was for the best. My mother would buy food just for me at the grocery store in an effort to help me gain weight. I had my own designated puddings, yogurts, and other various “treat” foods. I remember my grandmother enticing me with a pack of grape gum on Fridays if I ate well that week. This only went on for a short while but I do remember getting several packs of gum. When I was in middle school, my CF center encouraged us to use a weight-gaining protein powder. My grandparents promised my brother and me that if we drank two protein shakes a day, every day for 3 months, they would give us each $80.00. The shakes weren’t bad at first. We tried both vanilla and chocolate. We would measure out a scoop or two of powder, then add ice-cream and milk and blend it in the blender. The vanilla shakes made me feel ill. I could barely tolerate them. One time I even threw up while trying to finish my shake. I wonder if this is why, to this day, I don’t care for the smell of vanilla. I wasn’t completely compliant with drinking my shakes. I just wasn’t always in the mood for them and they really didn’t taste good. They sat like a rock in my stomach. My grandparents did end up giving us both $80.00.

 

 

  (Excuse the floor, it was in the process of being replaced.)