Maxy dearest has put on a whopping 200 grams, which means that we have been discharged to the care of our pediatrician! Hurrah! The pediatrician is a kind, interested man who seems to care genuinely about Max and who takes time to review his case with the other providers. Every time I leave his office I feel reassured and in good hands, and then I report what he actually said and have a little wait, what? moment. Some examples:

• To show concern about Max’s insane gagging reflex and inability to drink from a bottle: ‘No, it’s not a good thing that a child would die right away if he was separated from his mother.’ Fucking hell, man, no pressure, right? Wind me up tighter, why don’t you?
• To explain his decision to refer to the cardiologist for immediate evaluation of a heart murmur, ‘The sound I’m hearing in his heart is probably a small hole because it’s making a lot of noise. Like stepping on a hose! Although he is only a little baby, so even a small hole may seem quite large.’ One hand clapping say what now?!
• When evaluating Max at our most recent visit and noting that his weird chest/sternum depression has gotten more pronounced, while waving his hand as if swatting away a fly: ‘Yes, it’s some sort of mutation but we won’t worry about that right now.’ I’ll start my 2014 to-do list then, shall I?
• About our present situation: ‘There is a problem with Max. I don’t know what it is, and the hospital doesn’t know what it is. The best thing is for you to go lie on a beach for a week and we’ll talk later.’

In real estate it’s all location, location, location; with Dr. Jacob it’s all delivery, delivery, delivery, because although his choice of phrase is asinine, the overall impression he leaves is one of appropriately concerned competence. He’s right, too: we’re at the point with Max that we’ve run through the less invasive tests, and he’s still gaining some weight (sometimes even a very reasonable amount,) and although his feeding sessions are often a little nightmarish, overall they’re getting the job done. We’ll defer the more awful kinds of testing (those with radiation and weeks of tubes and etc.) until we’re forced to by a dip in his weight. Until then, we might not be going to a beach (Turkey, which provided us with a really lovely beach vacation just a few weeks ago, is now having the kind of civil unrest that is not helped by the arrival of screamy babies,) but we will revel in my mother’s excellent company and pinch this little guy’s slowly growing but adorable cheeks.

Max!