No matter how hard they try to make them cheerful and fun, children's wards are not happy places. There are kids crying out in pain, a little girl pushes back her curls to reveal an oxygen tube in her nose.
But the parents' faces are the worst. The kids are making the best of things, digging into the toys, rushing around the corridors or trying to guilt-trip more sweeties out of their families. But the parents stay bunched with anxious faces around each bedside. The ward is broken into little curtained bubbles of anxiety.
Yes, we are in hospital again.
We were lucky really, we went a whole year without having a stricture - which is where the scar tissue of his repair site tightens, causing the gullet to become blocked.
But just before his first birthday he developed a stinking cold which stuck around for a week. He became snotty - really, really snotty. Then he started throwing up snotty stuff, and couldn't even swallow milk.
It turns out that happy holiday we've been having from vomit wasn't just the drugs working - the stricture had been keeping the vom down for us. And that's why he couldn't eat the spaghetti pieces, no matter how small I cut them, and why he stopped being able to eat soft pear and peach.
He was taken in for a dilatation, which is where they sedate him, then push a small balloon device down his throat and inflate it, pushing the stricture out and stretching the area.
Before the stretch, his oesophagus had gone down to 4mm, it's now 1cm. He'll be back in two weeks for another one. The plan is to keep stretching the scar tissue, keeping it supple while he grows.
At least he's getting the help he needs. And although the children's ward isn't where we'd like to be, he's surrounded by amazing, hard-working professionals who keep him alive, and keep a smile on their faces while they're doing it. We've got a lot to be grateful for.
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