Finally, I got Alex referred to a specialist. I was thrilled, relieved, optimistic. At last, someone would have the answer and my boy would soon be eating a Sunday roast with gusto! Unbelievably, however, all the specialist proffered was “Give Alex a reward chart and explain to him that if he eats X, Y and Z he’ll get a prize.” The cashier in my local supermarket had already suggested that! I was dumbfounded. Nonetheless, the reward chart was duly tried and tested. But after three weeks it too went up in smoke. So, once again, we returned to the GP.
This time, she suggested enrolling Alex in a hospital food eating programme. It sounded good, legit. But inevitably there was a glitch: there was no guarantee he’d get a place. Places limited, proof of severe eating problems required; blah, blah, blah. Alex was deemed a severe case and secured a place, in a year’s time. Because like almost all health issues in this country, waiting lists apply.
Alex was nearly three at this stage, the prospect of facing into another year of dealing with the crisis was sheer torture. During the following 12 months things deteriorated further and Alex was diagnosed as being a “problem eater” – he ate no more than 20 types of foods and dropped foods without adding substitutes back into his diet. He wouldn’t eat any type of meat or fruit or veg. He was surviving on selected breakfast cereals, milk, bread, cheese, pasta and the humble fish finger.