After Tyler’s nine month checkup last week, Sarah called me and filled me in on how it went down. I then proceeded to do some research over at Google on otoscopes, otitis media, and ear infections. After reading for around two hours, I wrote a post about the appointment and the concerns that came from it. I usually proofread my posts twice before I unleash them to public scrutiny. Unfortunately, even after that, I’ve still found spelling and grammar mistakes after pressing the deceptively plain "publish" button. I frantically start clicking and editing, praying all the while that I get it fixed before anyone visits and before the readers that many of you use pick it up. Once that is done, I give the post one final reading. The point is, I’ve read that post a minimum of four times – probably closer to six or so – and never saw what most of you did. And I feel horrible for it; like I took you for a ride.
Am I concerned for Tyler? Of course. I’m his parent, his protector; I’ll be concerned for him every day of my life. Am I worried about it? Not really. I know he’ll be just fine. Am I worried that you hate it when people ask themselves questions like this and then answer themselves? Absolutely! It annoys me as well sometimes, so I try to keep it to a minimum.
The post only had a few comments from my readers, but I received quite a few emails about it, along with some comments on Facebook, a couple tweets, and a live conversation or two about it. It appears that many of you finished the post thinking that Tyler couldn’t hear. Maybe it had something to do with the post being titled, "Great, so he can’t hear, then?" Oops.
To clarify, the Doc said that he still has fluid in his ears, and it could create some hearing difficulties. Tyler responds to many sounds, so I’m not worried that he can’t hear. I just don’t know how clearly he is hearing. I compounded that with the fact that he had a double ear infection two months ago and has never stopped tugging on his ears, and took it to extremes. Gee, I wonder why my blog is called Irrational Dad.
After many – MANY – suggestions, I told Sarah that we’d be silly to not at least try taking Tyler to a chiropractor. Sarah made an appointment and took Tyler in yesterday while I was at work (actually, I was driving home from work and only missed the appointment by twenty minutes).
Since I wasn’t there, I won’t be able to do justice to exactly what transpired. Sarah said that Dr. Nagel used a tool that she compared to an air gun. Google has failed me in trying to get a proper name for the instrument, so we’ll just have to call it an adjustment gun. After checking Tyler’s back and neck, Lee (Dr. Nagel) shot him a couple times. This gun does not puncture the skin nor inject weird voodoo medicine into the body. From the little I have been able to gleam from the internet, I believe that the tool is basically a spring loaded actuator that gives a speedy, yet painless adjustment to whichever vertebrae has been targeted. Using an otoscope, Lee saw the fluid in Tyler’s ears, so when he goes back in for his second of three adjustments in a few days, we’ll know if things are improving. Personally, I won’t need a fancy otoscope to know if Tyler’s getting better. I just need to see Sarah wake up in the morning feeling rested because Tyler didn’t wake up crying four times in the night.
Lee is very optimistic that we’re on the right road. He is the husband of a woman that Sarah and I adore (our Bradley Instructor), and we assume that she has a pretty decent taste in men, plus our super-awesome Nurse Midwife takes her children to him as well, and I’d be inclined to believe anything she says, even if she told me that the Earth is flat. And to be perfectly honest, with the alternative being the possibility of putting Tyler under anesthesia to get surgery, this treatment will be worth every penny, whether it ends up being necessary or not.
Tyler is nine months old and has had his first chiropractic adjustment. I’m 31 years old (41.3 times older than Tyler) and have been to the chiropractor fewer times than my own son. Just thinking about that makes my T4 hurt. Seriously. If Lee saw an x-ray of my spine, I think he would drink a bottle of Gatorade (you know, to get his electrolytes up), tell his receptionist to clear his schedule, crack his knuckles (ha), and take me right to the gates of heaven a few times.