This may be a somewhat premature blog post. It always seems to be the case that any time I write about how wonderfully our diet is going and how well Logan is thriving, a stretch of not-so-great days follows. But I’m going to risk jinxing things.
Over the past 21 months, we’ve tried almost too many combinations of food, supplements, and therapy to count. The most recent addition we’ve been trying has been an antifungal regiment: a month of saccharomyces boulardii, a month of that plus Nystatin, and finally a month of Diflucan.
We’re now two months and two days into that treatment, and it really feels like we’ve hit a good stride. I think I really realized how much different things are on Sunday, when we began the Diflucan. Because this medication can be a little hard on the system, Logan’s doctor recommended he begin the morning with the Diflucan pill and move all other supplements to much later in the day. This meant a major change in Logan’s routine.
Our morning routine has been the same for roughly the past 20 months: Every day I make Logan his “milkshake,” a combination of milk substitute, vitamins and probiotics—the various ingredients have changed from time to time, but essentially, it’s looked the exact same, in the exact same cup (green, shaped like a dinosaur), with the exact same straw (red, bent in the shape of a heart).
Variations on this pattern were not well received. Once, on a weekend trip to my mom’s house, I forgot to pack his special cup. Logan screamed for about 30 minutes. Another time, his favorite straw was misplaced, and—while he had made enough progress not to scream—he still struggled and struggled, needing lots of prompting to drink with a different straw.
So now, having to switch things up even further, I approached Logan with trepidation on Sunday morning.
“Here, sweetie,” I said, handing him a glass of quinoa milk and a small pill. “Can you please swallow this pill with your milk?” I explained that the little pill was going to fight the yeast in his tummy and that for a month, he’d need to take it in the morning and drink his shake before bed. Then I held my breath.
Logan just shrugged, swallowed his pill and milk, and went back to playing. “Hey, Mom,” he said. “Want to play Legos?”
Other signs point to progress, too. It might be coincidence, or it might be because of the antifungal treatment, or simply almost two years on the diet, but recently Logan has morphed into the sweetest little boy ever in the mornings. I don’t have to pry him out of bed in the mornings, listening to him whine about not wanting to go to daycare. I don’t have to tell him 29 times to get dressed—he does it willingly, without help. He brushes his teeth. He puts his shoes on when it’s time to leave, without 17 prompts, directives, warnings, and threats from me.
He even does his best to console his little sister, who unfortunately is becoming less and less of a morning person every day. On the ride to daycare he lets her hold whatever book or toy he’s bringing for share day, and he tries to encourage her that she’ll have fun at daycare with her friends, that mom will come home early tonight, that she can play princesses then, that this weekend we’ll go for a family hike. It is downright remarkable how different our mornings are from just six months ago.
All this could be coincidence. It could be the antifungal treatment. It could be finally two years on a sugar-free, probiotic-rich diet. Or it could just be the summer sun.
But in any case, I’m grateful for these peaceful days—especially knowing they might be about to end, or at least put on hiatus while his body adjusts to the Diflucan and goes through some die-off. But I am optimistic that, while we may have some short-term hiccups, things will always improve in the long run.