doctors and nurses »

Big Ones

Posted by Domestic Diva at 11:42 am Uncategorized

Feb 162011

I hate when people point out that I have big ones. Obviously, I’m aware; they are on my body after all.

Although, I cannot blame my kids for this body condition; unlike many other things that are going wrong with my body such as my Tom Selleck Mustache, gray hair and fine lines/wrinkles, my big ones have been… well, big, for quite some time. I can even recall people speaking, often in hushed voices, about my big ones since I was in my early teens.

At this point, I can’t even tell you their exact size. To be honest, I’m not sure I want to know. My big ones cause certain people to stare, look longer than I feel is really necessary, and have been the centerpiece of some uncomfortable situations. On one occasion, someone called an “associate” over to take a look. How awkward! Are my big ones that noteworthy? Even after I had my children, my big ones have been referred to as:

Impressive
Well above average
Massive
Jumbo
Colossal
Plump
Much more voluminous than expected

There really isn’t anything I can do about it now. They look large whether I’m wearing a turtleneck or a V-Cut. My big ones appear massive in any kind of light. Since I can’t attribute this to pregnancy/hormones/nursing, I guess it could have a genetic link. At this point, even after diet and exercise, they remain over-sized, and I suppose the only way to reduce their girth would be through surgery.

“Here we go again,” I thought. Today, upon meeting a doctor for the first time, he even took an extra long look. “I know this may feel a bit awkward, but hold still just a moment longer,” he said as he studied my big ones. My face felt flushed and I felt more than just a little awkward as this so called ‘doctor’ examined my big ones oh so thoroughly. I would have assumed that since he was a doctor (and a man of his age), he would have seen his fair share of big ones, and wouldn’t need to hold such a lingering glance at mine. Finally, his exam concluded but not before he gently rubbed all over them. This motion actually made me feel nauseous for a moment.

“I should ask to see this guys diploma,” I thought. “Was such a comprehensive rub-down of my big ones really that necessary? This guy probably could have made a diagnosis just by looking at me. He probably gets some sick pleasure from getting all up on someone’s big ones like that,” I silently contemplated. “This guy’s first name could be ‘Doctor’ for all I know. I wonder where he went to medical school…” but then my inner dialogue was cut short.

“There,” he said pulling his hands away, “you’re all finished.”

“Great,” I said looking at the ‘Doctor’ suspiciously.

“We’ll get the results of your throat culture in a few minutes. Has anyone ever told you that you should have had your tonsils out a long time ago?” he questioned. “They are some of the biggest ones I’ve ever seen.”

“It’s been mentioned once or twice,” I casually replied.

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The blood of a unicorn

Posted by Domestic Diva at 4:38 pm Uncategorized

Feb 132011

I’m not a doctor by medical standards…and I suppose technically, I’m not a doctor by anyone’s standards, however, I feel like I have a basic understanding of the human body. As an out-of-the-closet germaphobe, you might assume I’m always at the doctor’s office whenever I, or one of my offspring, have a sniffle. That couldn’t be further from the truth. In fact, I hate the doctor’s office, medical aide unit, and hospital. Going to one of these places is like walking into the lion’s den. Tons of sick people congregating in one place, leaving germs all over, is a place I try to avoid. Anyway, my point here is that I’m not one to rush to a doctor’s office just for your standard cold.

So after my son Jake, who is three, had a mild cold for 10 days and developed a fever, I called for an appointment. I was slightly annoyed Tuesday that calling at 10:30am was too late for an appointment that day, so I took Jake in Wednesday. The doctor did a throat culture (which was negative), checked his ears (which were clear), and listened for a long time to his chest and back. Having a thick nasty cough, fever, chills, vomiting, and more thick green snot I than ever thought possible for a human child of his size, the doctor told me he needed a chest Xray. Poor, Jake. I admit, he was really sick and as much as I didn’t want him to have another Xray (the kid had one in December when he had walking pneumonia), I wanted to rule out anything serious. Thankfully, it was clear, but I was surprised that the nurse who called with the report Wednesday afternoon said the doctor thought it was viral. I think the initial 10 days of illness were, but the last three days of fever seemed like a secondary infection. I argued that he was getting worse with higher temperatures coming closer together and that this was only the third sick visit this kid had ever had. Furthermore, he’s only been on an antibiotic twice. What about a sinus infection? Long story short, no dice. “Call back if he gets worse or has a fever Friday.”

So Wednesday night was bad, Thursday was worse, and Friday morning I called again. They took a message and I got a call back from another nurse saying the doctor would see him again BUT he still thinks it’s viral. WTF? Then, the nurse starts with the slow talking. I hate slow talking. “Now, I understand that you are concerned about Jake, but a virus can cause a fever, “ The nurse condescendingly advised me. She continued, “you can bring him back in, but when a child has a viral illness an antibiotic won’t help.”

“Duhhhhh! Doooooy!!! Errrrr!!!” I began making these ‘idiot’ noises in my head. Was this nurses fucking kidding me? If she was saying this to my face I would have kicked her in the vagina. I slow talk to my little kids all the time, “Now, Jake. Please don’t stand on the toilet and jump in the tub when I go get your towel. You could break your leg.” OR “Joey, if we let wild, dirty animals in the house it could cause a huge mess, dear.Plus Mommy doesn’t want to have to kill a dog.“ I slow talk to my kids because they may act like idiots, but they are just kids (and usually don’t know any better). Plus it helps me not scream and/or curse at them. Here’s an example of slow talking to one of my kids (true story) : Slow talking example. In general, slow talking, at least in my experience, is meant to be condescending. It really chaps my ass when someone talks to me like this.

I am not arguing that I’m a medical professional, but based on my own experience, research, and previous experience with my kids (who have been prescribed antibiotics a total of 6 times between the three of them) I didn’t see the harm in trying something for this potential bacterial infection. So I slow talked back. “I do know that a virus can cause a fever. I have three kids. Two of them spent time in daycare, have gone through preschool, and my oldest is now in Kindergarten. We have had our share of viruses. Many of those viruses have caused fevers. I also know that bacteria can cause infections too. Bacteria can also cause fevers. Antibiotics can kill bacteria and make you feel aaaallllllll better.”

She wasn’t amused. I was not amused either. Long story short, I told the office I would take him to an Urgent Care facility that I was confident would give him an antibiotic and not waste the time and another co-pay on a diagnosis they were not willing to change. I planned on taking Jake Saturday morning when his fever broke. He still sounds like a TB patient, but at least the fever is gone. And now, because this is what happens with a house full of children, Cecilia has a fever and thick nasty cough after 11 days of mild cold symptoms.

So now, because my doctor wouldn’t give me the blood of a unicorn to cure my son…. oh wait, I wasn’t asking for something crazy like the blood of a unicorn, I was just looking for a simple antibiotic, so now I’m going to look for a new pediatrician. Hopefully, Cecilia’s fever and cough will be better by tomorrow or she’ll be visiting Urgent Care too. Sounds like the way one of my Mondays would go…

The blood of a unicorn has magical healing powers. It seems more likely I'd be able to get this from my pediatrician than an antibiotic.

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Lego my Eggo

Posted by Domestic Diva at 6:10 pm Uncategorized

Feb 072011

I’d been having one of those stayed-up-too-late-and-forgot-to-set-the-alarm type mornings, and just as I began to settle down and tried to find my groove, my daughter, who had been out of her highchair for all of three minutes, found, ate and began to choke on some Legos. Because of my daughter’s tendency to climb, eat, and generally cause mayhem, I rarely leave her alone in a room and was thankfully right there as she first coughed then stopped making noise all together as the plastic blocks obstructed her airway. I quickly ran over, swooped her up and performed the Heimlich on her. After just two thrusts she coughed out the Legos, which were two blocks stuck together, and as a bonus I got a handful of Eggo Waffles she had eaten 10 minutes earlier. She immediately coughed, cried, and then began running around acting normal, while I stood there holding regurgitated Eggo & Lego in my hands and could actually feel the hairs on my head turning gray.

I spent the next hour following her around, listening to her breathing, and of course looking for any other choking hazards that may have been left around. Normally, my older children’s toys remain in the finished basement’s playroom, and only my daughter’s toys are within her reach upstairs. This was something that fell off a friend’s toy who had visited Sunday.

Still shaken by the incident after an hour, I called her doctor and got some reassurance that she was probably fine now after giving them the play-by-play. I tried not to think about what could have happened since she was fine and I was right there. Cecilia, aka ‘Baby Hoover,’ enjoys eating a variety of things off the floor including but not limited to old food, grass, mulch, and evidently Legos. My floors aren’t that dirty, she just finds every little thing that falls on the floor. If you track in a piece of mulch or dirt from outside, this child will be eating it within 20 minutes. All I know is that I cannot wait for her to grow out of her Pica phase…it’s causing premature aging on my part.

Hours later, while she was napping, I went through and did a visual sweep of the area, checking under couches and the entertainment center to ensure I didn’t miss any other Lego parts. Thankfully, I didn’t find any more Legos, but did get a couple other items I’d been looking for…

Under the entertainment center was a missing DVD, a couple puzzle pieces, a remote and a empty box of raisins. I hate finding food or food items fearing one day I’ll have insects crawling around my house as a result. So as I continued my sweep of the house, I was especially irritated to find that there was a raisin on the rug by the front door.

Only, it wasn’t a raisin…

So to end my Monday, which by definition are generally shitty, I picked up a small turd that must have fallen out of my daughter’s diaper just before I had changed her that morning. She won’t use the potty yet at 19 months, but once she goes in her diaper she’ll get a clean diaper, start disrobing, and even try to remove the dirty diaper. Through this normal process a little mini turd must have rolled out, and unbeknownst to me, and just laid there looking like a raisin waiting for me to pick up and squeeze between my fingers.

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Diagnosis Unknown

Posted by Domestic Diva at 9:55 am Uncategorized

Jan 052011

So my original intention was to do a post on New Year’s Resolutions…three days ago. Life, as usual, has sidetracked me. If you read my last post, you know we spent much of our holiday vacation with sick kids. On Monday, one week after my daughter was seen and treated for an ear infection, she broke out in a rash. It now is from the top of her head all the way down to her knees.

The exact diagnosis is unknown, but the doctor suspects either a drug reaction to the antibiotic (which she had never had before) or a virus. So since Monday morning, I’ve basically been in panic mode watching one more red spot after another pop up on my daughter’s skin and grow into red blotchy clusters. I’ve been taking her temperature (which has remained normal- which is more than I can say for me), pressing on the spots to make sure they “blanch,” and paying close attention to certain areas like the palms of her hands and soles of her feet. I am thankful for two things at this point. 1) The doctor said the original ear infection cleared and 2) The rash doesn’t seem to be bothering her at all. In fact, the worst part about it for Cecilia is dealing with my constant poking and prodding.

This morning, Cecilia’s face seems a little better and the red clusters have faded a bit, so we’re still doing a “wait and see” approach with whatever this is. Now that I think she’s not at risk of some kind of anaphylactic shock, I’ve settled down a bit too. So maybe I can start working on the New Year’s Resolution I never end up keeping…

Here’s a picture of what my sweet little baby normally looks like:

Cecilia Thanksgiving 2010

Here’s what my sweet baby is dealing with now (this was yesterday morning- hope her outfit doesn’t clash with her skin):

And here’s last night, probably at its worst (keep in mind these are from her scalp all the way to her knees):

I hope we’ve seen the worst of it, and like I said, I’m so extremely thankful that it doesn’t seem to be bothering her at all. Joey think she looks like a leopard and Jake keeps calling her a “leper” (which for the time being I don’t find funny) and telling me to make sure she’s not growing a tail. I’ll be keeping an ever watchful (and annoying) eye on her until the last spot goes away.

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Sometimes my crystal ball ain’t so crystal clear

Posted by Domestic Diva at 1:49 pm Uncategorized

Jan 022011

I hate being right all the time. Seriously, I do. I wish that some of my “predictions” would not come true, especially those about how I would be spending my holiday. The week before Christmas is when my first premonition came to me. I was standing with my three year old in his preschool class, when another little boy wandered in the room, visible sick and tired. One of the teachers asked him if he was “awake yet” and his mother replied “he was up all night coughing.” It took a lot of will power to not a) smack this idiot parent in the face and b) not to take Jake by the hand and just leave. Instead, I said goodbye to Jake, said a silent prayer for good health, and walked down the hallway towards the exit listening to the echoing sounds of what I would have diagnosised as whooping cough. Two and a half days later Jake started with a cold, cough & fever. Cecilia followed late the weekend before Christmas, and Joey started coughing a few days before Christmas.

Jake ended up breaking his fever over the weekend, but in an effort not to share what he had, we kept him home to recoup (which meant he missed his Christmas party & festivities). Cecilia also broke her fever the Monday before Christmas, and Joey who was still “well” attended school the week before Christmas which was just Monday, Tuesday and Wednesday. I volunteered at school to help out all morning Monday & Tuesday during which several kids had to go home because they were still sick or had become sick. One child, who was puking all day Monday, returned, still sick and feverish Tuesday, was sent home before 10am and was back on Wednesday to spread his holiday cheer again. It’s cases like this, where the school’s policy is that the child must be fever free for 24 hours, that I think the school should be able to say, “Sorry! Take your sick kid home you horrible parent! We said 24 hours fever free! You think all these kids want to be puking on Christmas?!” Premonition #2 befell me Wednesday at Joey’s Christmas party as I observed him sitting in between two of the sick pukey kids from Monday & Tuesday trading & sharing snacks. Yum!

Christmas Eve we had no fevers (it had now been over a week after they started and only had mild-lingering cold symptoms), but as I packed my holiday diaper bag, I told my husband to take our spare trashcan and stick it in the back of the truck just in case someone needed it. As he was packing the food, presents, and kids, he mumbled something about me being a “weirdo” but still took the trashcan and placed it in the back of the truck anyway. My thought process here was that just two days before Joey was sharing snacks with his two barf-buddies, and we hadn’t quite cleared the “incubation” period.

As we pulled back in the driveway after a long but enjoyable Christmas Eve party, I was happy that my husband was right about me being such a “weirdo” and that the trashcan was still sitting in the trunk unused. Christmas morning was not quite as happy as I would have hoped, but after a late and exhausting evening, I assumed my cranky kids were just feeling the effects of the holiday.

Before we got back in the car that afternoon for another 40 mile trip (each way), Jake complained of a headache, so we gave him some Motrin and headed north. We had another fabulous party, and the gift exchanges were a hit again. Great food, good people, and did I mention the food? The kid’s palates are a little less refined and they enjoyed bowls of candies and seemingly unending cups of juice in combination with the excitement of so many gifts. Jake had been using his best “Oliver Twist/Puppy Dog Eyes” to get handfuls of M&M’s from various Aunts, Uncles & cousins, and after a sugar high, all the kids, including Jake, seemed to be finally winding down as we hit 157 miles of our 160 mile round trip Christmas 2010 bonanza. Expecting snow the next day, and with the car quiet, my husband pulled into a gas station about three miles from home just as Jake began to puke juice, M&M’s and Motrin all over himself.

Without a thought, he threw the car in park and ran and grabbed the trashcan from the back of the car that his weirdo-wife insisted on taking the night before just in time for me to jump in the back over the seat and catch “most” of what his body was rejecting into the can. It was moments like this, standing in someone else’s sick, facing backwards in the car, nearly home after the longest two days of my life, that I hated being right. My husband, the next day however, refused to admit I was right because he says I wanted the trashcan for the wrong kid and he was puking from 8lbs of candy and not from a virus. Give me a break! Sorry that my crystal ball ain’t so crystal clear. My mother’s intuition got most of it right…at least the important parts.

All the running around, excitement and junk took it’s toll on Jake though. After 9 days of a cold (which we’re told by doctor’s can last 7-14 days in kids), poor Jake developed a fever again and they advised me he had to be seen (in the snow storm) at a Urgent Care Center. After he and I spent four hours and what will undoubtedly be hundreds of dollars with the tests/X-Rays, Jake was diagnosed with walking pneumonia. The following day, just after the snow storm ended (and with 8″ of snow on the roads) Cecilia redeveloped a fever after 9 days of cold and earned herself her very first ear infection. My husband soon followed with an antibiotic, and Joey and I were the only two to come out un-medicated. So we spent the week battling secondary infections, running humidifiers, and finally were well for New Year’s Eve. I am now enjoying our third consecutive day of good health, before school starts back tomorrow. Anybody seen my bubble?

Hope you all had a Happy Holiday & Hope you all have a fabulous & happy New Year!

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State your purpose, son

Posted by Domestic Diva at 8:05 pm Uncategorized

Nov 152010

Parents often document their child’s first year in a baby book/calendar and some even record the child’s milestones through early adolescence. Each of my own children has a “First Five Years” book that catalogs all the milestones that happen from birth through Kindergarten. The beginning of each book is full of spaces and pages for the multitude of developmental hurdles that babies experience in the first twelve months or so of life like rolling over, crawling, walking, and first words. Years two through five contain a few less pages, however, there is one page that appears for each year that has a survey for the parent to complete detailing the child’s “favorites” for that particular year. Here is what I plan on filling in for Joey (age 5) this year:

Favorite Food: Pizza, chicken (only in nugget form), & pancakes
Favorite Book: Classic Curious George Stories, Where the Wild Things Are, First Encyclopedias (Sharks & Dinosaurs)
Favorite TV Show: Tom & Jerry, Curious George, Dino Dan, and any National Geographic Nature shows
Favorite Movie: Where the Wild Things Are, Up, Wall-E
Favorite Toy: Leapster
Favorite Game: Anything outdoors, Toy Story on Wii
Hobbies: Becoming an “Explorer; Using public toilets, and Embarrassing my Mom whenever she takes me out in public

Case in point, today, as with many days before, taking Joey out into the world proves to be an embarrassing task that leaves me with a certainty this child lives to humiliate me whenever possible.

Jake and I picked up Joey from school this morning for a quick trip to the doctor’s office for flu shots, and upon arrival, we saw another boy from Joey’s class with his brother and Mom also waiting for their flu shots. As I tried to calm Joey, who was now super excited to see a friend, I also tried to check in with Jake clinging to my leg. Jake, who was very upset to be at the doctor’s office for any reason, whimpered a bit and I hurried through the ridiculously long check-in process showing my photo id, insurance card, co-pays, w-2′s, copy of my and their birth certificates, and a copy of my deed for my house. Okay, it’s not quite that ridiculous, but it’s much longer than necessary (thanks HIPA). Anyway, Joeys’ friend asked Jake if he liked the Phillies since he was sporting a hat and jacket with their logo. Joey chimed in that they love the Phillies and the Wilmington Blue Rocks (Delaware’s minor league baseball team). I added that the boys got to a few Blue Rock’s games, but we never made it up to Philadelphia for a Phillies game this year. Joey then exclaims, “I loooooved the Blue Rocks games! I saw the baseball team and ate ice cream and I went to the bathroom at least two times at the last game. One time I peed in the bathroom and the other time I went back and I peed again but I got poop in there too.”

This other mother was laughing quietly while the receptionist was hysterical. I then explained that a year ago Joey would not use any public restroom and now everywhere we go that there is a bathroom, he needs to go and at least pee. Public bathrooms are a big deal now for some reason. I also added that I can no longer take him in public without this kind of random embarrassing banter. This kid’s sole purpose in life seems to be to embarrass me…or at the very least it’s a hobby of his. I suppose that Joey talking about his own pooping escapades is better than him talking about stranger’s weight, handicaps, or skin color.

That’s okay though. I’m saving all the embarrassing photos and videos in a special file just waiting for the first time he brings a girl home. Payback is a bitch…or at least it will be!

Joey, age 5, enjoys playing outside, eating cookies, reading and pooping in public toilets

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Zombie Mom

Posted by Domestic Diva at 9:44 am Uncategorized

Oct 272010

I am Zombie Mom. No, it’s not my Halloween costume for this weekend, it’s my current state of being. As a parent we all go through periods of little sleep, and when you have kids and things go wrong, you often find when it rains it pours. Well, it’s been like biblical flooding the last week around here.

I spent most of last week sick myself, battling a fever for five days, and trying to make it through the day. I accomplished very little, and thank God my husband was doing dishes and laundry in my stead because it would have taken me another week to clean up the mess. I trudged through my week, and by Friday I was shaking my fist at the powers that be when I woke up with a toothache too.

Friday morning I woke up a sick baby to take her to school so Jake could get his pictures done, otherwise I would have just gone right to a dentist. Jake picked out his own shirt which I ironed and we talked about how if he smiled nice we’d put his picture next to Joey’s preschool photo. Since Jake wants to do everything his big brother does, this strategy typically pays off. Not this time. Jake cried and threw a fit, so no school picture for him. His teacher had to hold him to get him in the class photo.

Friday afternoon I was busy packing for a weekend trip to Pittsburgh, when the baby started with a fever. We haven’t seen my husband’s family in a while, so they said to come out even if the baby wasn’t feeling great. Packing and cleaning continued and I debated on taking my Motrin with wine but decided that might add liver damage to my ailments and just tried to hang in there. I knew I’d get more done once the kids were in bed and then….Bang! Jake slips and smashes his mouth off the end table. Blood, crying, a front tooth out of place, and an after hours call to the doctor. Bleeding stops, swelling continues, and I look for more Motrin and that bottle of wine. We try to get to bed early but all of the kids are up on throughout the night.

Saturday we stay home to reach a pediatric dentist. Finally get a hold of one and after describing Jake’s mouth, he says it can wait until Monday and the tooth may “just” need to be pulled. Baby wakes up with a high fever, and Joey is seemingly the only well child. I debate on strapping a helmet to his head. He is excited to go to his “best Buddy’s” birthday party around lunch, but by mid-morning has greenish yellow boogerish material weeping from his left eye. Itching and redness commence, and I give him an easy pink eye diagnosis. Cecilia’s fever gets worse Saturday night and Jake looks like he lost a fight with a table. Cecilia doesn’t fall asleep until 12:30am, Jake pees the bed at 2am, and Joey screams and cries cause his siblings woke him up and now has pink eye in both eyes and thinks he’s blind.

Sunday morning rolls around and I double my coffee intake before anything else happens. I call the doctor’s office and wait for them to call me back about eye drops for Joey’s eyes. They call back and Joey overhears me say he has pink eye, and cries because he thinks his eye color has changed to pink and pink is “just for girls.” While I am on the phone with the nurse the baby wakes up with a temp of 104. I feel panicked for an hour until Motrin kicks in and her temp comes down. Joey flips out after we give him eye drops, Jake smiles and has swollen purple bruised gums and a crooked tooth, and the poor baby is fussy all day. Sunday night feels like I’m in the movie “Groundhog’s Day” where Bill Murray’s character relives the same day over and over. Sleep eludes me yet again.

Monday rolls around and I am thankful and irritated to have Joey home from school. He feels fine, but needs the eye drops administered for 24 hrs before he can return to school. I listen him whine about wanting to go to school all day. The baby has a low fever but seems better. Jake’s mouth improves. I’m pissed cause Joey missed his school pictures. Monday night the baby now wants to be rocked again after all the coddling when she was sick. Her bed time this night is around 1am.

A muggy Tuesday morning finds me barely able to function, and despite a morning shower, I have a frizzy afro. I battle Joey with the damn eye drops, the baby is feeling better because she’s back to climbing and her usual destruction, but Jake gets progressively more whiny all day. By 4pm Jake has a 102 temp, and after an exhausting five days, I went to bed at 9pm. Jake is in my bed by 10pm with a 103 fever and a really stuffy nose. By 1am we finally get him settled in our bed and his rolls, kicks and snores all night. I know his temp is rising again because he feels hot as his throws his arms and legs over me, but since he’s sleeping, I let him go. At 6:15am this morning I wake up to a warm wet feeling, and realize the sick toddler has now just peed all over himself, my bed, and me.

I know there is not enough coffee to get me through the day today as I stand in the shower, and catch myself dozing off under the warm water several times. I am on my third cup of coffee of the day, and I think it will be a triumph if I make it until 3pm when I have to get Joey from school.

So excuse the ranting and the raving and the whining and complaining, I know we all have shitty days…I just feel like spewing it back out into the universe. If anyone has any suggestions on what sacrifice I can make to the gods of sleep, please let me know. I’m almost positive it’s not humanly possible to live like this.

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Excuse me, your son just licked my baby

Posted by Domestic Diva at 2:55 pm Uncategorized

Oct 122010

I always feel a bit anxious before taking my kids to the doctors, even if it is just for a well check up. Maybe it’s knowing they’ll be crying as soon as we get in the exam room, maybe it’s because of the shots they’ll have to have, or maybe it’s my germaphobia and it’s like attending “exposure therapy” every time I head into known bacteria cafeterias.

Once parked, I went around to get the stroller and nearly stepped into what was once gold fish (I think) in a pile of kiddie puke. I then climbed back in the car and went to the opposite side of the lot and tried again. I cringed a bit as I reached the door and we walked inside.

We’re now nearing two months since kids went back to school and I held my breath and flinched a little as we walked past the now full sick side with a symphony of hacking coughs. As we signed in, Cecilia still didn’t know where we were, so she happily smiled at the other kids in the waiting room who waved and smiled back at her. I filled out her papers and I paid in advance (since there’s usually a sense of urgency to leave once we’re done). As we waited, I read Cecilia a book but we were suddenly interrupted by the waiting room door to the back of the office swinging wildly open. “Wait, Michael!” a woman shouted after a snotty blond boy who torn into the well waiting room. The woman soon emerged along with her husband and she began what would be a ridiculously long check out. First she chattered about the weather and her plans for the weekend, and as the receptionist tried to guide her to the task at hand (scheduling another appointment),and then she began to talk about Halloween. At least she had her husband to watch their son…and watch their son he did. He watched him climb over chairs. He watched him tip the little kids table over. Then he watched him run right over to Cecilia and without stopping, leap into her umbrella stroller, stuffed nose running, mouth open with tongue out, and lick her arm like a God damned retriever.

Call it divine intervention, but I managed to not kick this small boy in the face and his father in the nuts…and his mother in her ovaries. I did, however yell out, “Noooooo, noooo little guy! She’s got a bad cold, no touch!” His father said, “Oh that’s okay, so does he!” Really? The booger trail on my daughter’s arm wasn’t a big enough clue. For anyone as dense as Booger’s Dad, I’ll just tell you that was my “nice” way of telling a child, who because he was born to idiot parents, doesn’t know that you shouldn’t climb and jump on strangers. The mother at this point, still had not turned around and I proceeded to use antibacterial wipes from my bag to clean my daughter’s arm and stroller. The father stared at me, and I gave him a dirty look, then smiled a little more than I should have when his son smacked his forehead off the windowsill he was attempting to climb while virtually unattended. I shook my head and thought about how some kids just don’t have a chance.

The rest of the visit was pretty routine, and thankfully Cecilia is growing well and didn’t cry for 90% of her exam. She likes the doctor who lets the kids play with the medical tools before he uses them. He let her continue to hold the reflex hammer after checking her and as he listened to her heart and other parts of the exam. I could only watch as she swung the hammer wildly, but somehow managed to miss the doctor with each swing. She even showed off a bit and chattered away, stringing some words together in small sentences. What can I say, she’s advanced? Of course, if it’s one thing we know how to do in this house it’s talk. Oh, and we had a different nurse which was good too!

So after a nice bath and clean clothes when she got home, we sat down and enjoyed a sliced orange for some extra vitamin C. I also said a silent prayer of thanks that I didn’t flip out to those idiot parents. Some days it’s the little things that count.

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Public Potties are a Nightmare

Posted by Domestic Diva at 5:13 pm Uncategorized

Aug 192010

Tuesday morning, after yelling at Joey to stop playing Curious George games on pbskids.org until 11pm the night before, I literally had to drag him out of bed to get to the doctor’s office for his physical. Although he was not happy to hear me barking orders at him early in the morning, he was still much better than Jacob was for his appointment a couple weeks ago. However, he only ate half his breakfast and needed to be told to go to the bathroom and put on his shoes sixty-eight times before we finally left for his appointment.

After being greeted with a “Hello again!” at the front desk, we sat down and waited to be called back for Joey’s exam. I breathed a sigh of relief and thought about how much easier taking a five year old to the doctor was versus a three or one year old. Just then Joey burst my bubble when he asked, “Hey Mom, where’s the potty? I have to poop.” So much for going before we left the house (20 minutes earlier).

Seconds later the nurse came around the corner ad called us back. Joey promptly told her he needed to poop first and asked her where he could find the bathroom. She directed us to the very public restroom used by everyone at the doctor’s office sick and well alike, and my germaphobia kicked in to high gear. “Okay, Joey, just wait a minute please.” I instructed as I lined the seat with toilet paper and told him to sit. I just shook my head and tried to remain calm as Joey knocked all the paper into the toilet and had his legs in such a manner that his shorts and underwear pressed right against the underside of the toilet. “I need some privacy, Mom!” Joey proclaimed and I stepped into the hall next to the waiting Nurse.

I left the door open about three inches and whispered to the nurse this might be another minute. As I asked her what room we should go in when Joey was done, I peeked back into the bathroom and was terrified to see Joey swinging his legs wildly around and holding the underside of the bare toilet seat with both hands for support. My knees wobbled as I tried to remain calm and keep my facade of a sane, normal human being up for the nurse who instructed to go to Room 6 when Joey finished his business.

As the nurse turned a corner, I threw the door open and called out to Joey louder than I should have, but it was because Joey’s germy, e-coli, poo covered fingers had left the toilet seat and one of them was now shoved knuckle deep up his nose. “Come on, kid!” I exclaimed in a loud whisper. Joey nonchalantly said he was done and hopped off the seat, and I tried to keep the room from spinning. At the sink I attempted to scrub his hands only to get the last two squirts of soap from the dispenser, and I began to sweat as I thought of what organisms he stuffed up his nose exactly three hours before we were set to leave for vacation.

After the nurse checked his weight, height, and blood pressure (and I pondered how high mine was), she left the room and we waited for the doctor. Not being able to help myself at this point, I began to Purell Joey, just as the doctor came in. I immediately felt like a spaz and explained how “intimate” Joey was with the toilet and the doctor just smiled and said to continue by all means.

The actual visit was smooth and Joey followed all the directions and even got one shot without any complaints. Only one problem…our doctor, who we have only been seeing a few months, couldn’t find any blood work from Joey or Jake when they were one from their old doctor’s records. The state requires a CBC Blood count and Lead Level before the kids can start school, so I was unable to get their physical forms. School starts in less than two weeks, and our vacation was supposed to start as soon as I got home from the doctor’s with Joey. Now I needed to get blood work for both kids asap so they can start school on time.

First thing Wednesday morning, we dragged the kids out of bed at the beach and took them to a Lab for blood work, but didn’t explain anything until we got there. Jake thought he was going to a food lab like the one in the movie, “Cloudy with a Chance of Meatballs,” and Joey thought he was visiting a “Robotics Lab.” Boy were they disappointed.

I was finishing our insurance info when they called Joey back, so my husband accompanied him. A few minutes later Joey emerged from the back with a scowl like no other on his face, and loudly exclaimed, “Mom! I went back there and they sucked out my blood! It was like a giant mosquito!” Three older men, all waiting to be seen, laughed out loud at Joey. I then jokingly told him that he shouldn’t say that so loudly because maybe not everyone here knows what happens in the back. Everyone laughed again as one of the men acted like he was going to run out the door. Joey, who was not amused be any means, continued to cross his arms and pout, and I told him how proud I was and we’d even go get a special breakfast since he was so brave. “Whatever,” he said under his breath.

For those of you keeping count that’s five weeks, four pediatrician’s visits, three of them well check ups with shots, two blood draws at the lab, and one exhausted Mom. So here’s to hoping that we won’t be seeing the inside of the doctor’s office until our next scheduled well appointment….although, with school starting back up next Monday, that might require a miracle of sorts.

Thems my balls…

Posted by Domestic Diva at 2:46 pm Uncategorized

Aug 082010

I hurried around the house, looking for items to bring to the doctor’s office. I had the usual items in the diaper bag, but searched for items to distract and occupy Jake at his appointment. As I quickly tried to get at least one cup of coffee in my system, I said a silent prayer that we get a different nurse today than who we had yesterday. Cecilia had to be seen the day prior because she has never had the chicken pox vaccine, and my husband has an outbreak of shingles. After talking with the doctor by phone, he suggested she get the vaccine which could prevent or lessen the severity of the illness should she succumb to the virus herself. I wondered perhaps if I made the right choice as we stood in the office, and the receptionist coughed repeatedly while getting us checked in. I remember the days of being exposed to the chicken pox virus on purpose, and wondered if an outbreak of chicken pox would be worse than contracting the whooping cough I just diagnosed the woman behind the counter with…at least we were to be in and out quickly, and were there to simply see a nurse who would just be giving her the vaccine. When we were called back the nurse commented on how cute Cecilia was, and how funny that she was leaving her sunglasses on her face. I noted that she thinks she is hiding and most likely invisible, so perhaps that is why it came as an even greater surprise to Cecilia when she was stuck in the leg by a needle. At first she didn’t even cry, but rather slipped free from my grip on one side, pulled her arm back, and smacked the nurse right in the face just as she was placing the bandage on Cecilia’s leg. The nurse looked even more shocked than I did, and for a minute all three of us were silent. Then Cecilia began to scream and cry, and I, in my usual fashion, quickly apologized as I made my way as fast as possible out the door.

“Please, Dear God, give me a different nurse!” I prayed. Just then Jake appeared, already crying and not wanting to go and see the doctor. He continued crying as we drove to the office, and began to wail as I unbuckled his seat belt. Knowing this was only the beginning of the worst, I rummaged through his diaper bag and finally struck gold. A binkie. We had taken the pacifiers off him seven days before when he turned three years old. Jake instantly stopped crying as I dangled the pacifier in front of his tear stained face. “I will give this to you as long as you stop crying, little man. The minute you start up again, I’m taking this away. Oh, and don’t tell Daddy.” I bargained. Jake thought for a moment, wiped his face, and agreed.

As we made our way into the waiting room, I could already hear the receptionist coughing and thought if Cecilia, Jake or I make it through without getting sick ourselves, it would be a damn miracle. After signing in and slathering my hands in Purell, I offered Jake some of the toys I packed earlier. He was uninterested in doing much of anything other than burying his face in my shoulder. As long as he wasn’t screaming, I was happy. A little girl, probably about 4 years old, came over and said “Pwease don’t be sad. It’s okay. Wanna read a book wiff me?” Jacob looked up at her, removed his binkie, and said, “Don’t talk to me.” Nice. The little girl instantly began to cry, and I almost didn’t hear the nurse call our name as I was apologizing to the girl and her mother. Jake too began to cry and tighten his grip around my neck.

He cried ridiculously loud as they weighed, measured and took his blood pressure. I tried to reassure him as I restrained from my more predominant desire which was to “give him something to cry about.” At least we had a different nurse…as she took us into our exam room, Jake’s cries became more like whimpers as she went through his chart and asked me questions about his sleeping, eating and development. At one point, Jake appeared to almost stop crying and his sniffed loudly. The nurse, trying to help, said “Awe, buddy. I’m not going to hurt you.” Jake, once again removed his binkie, and replied, “My Mom smacks my ass when I lie. You better not lie.” My cheeks felt ablaze and my stomach sank as I swiftly apologized to the second nurse in two days. I also scolded Jake who argued “she is gonna hurt me.” The nurse was clearly speechless and just jotted something I’d rather not think about into Jacob’s chart.

As we waited in the exam room I could hear muffled voices in the hallway, followed by laughter. I hoped if they were talking about us they at least had a sense of humor. Once the doctor came in Jake relaxed a bit and did pretty well for his exam. We had almost made it through a portion of our visit without incident when the doctor told Jake “Now I’m going to do one last thing and check your privates to make sure they are okay…Mommy is still right here.” Jake looked a bit puzzled and said, “Uh, those aren’t my privates. Thems are my balls.” Again, my face flushed and I tried my best this time not to laugh.

Upon completing the exam, the doctor sent the nurse in to administer two shots to Jake, and Jake promptly reminded her of how she was a liar. She apologized and explained this was medicine to help keep him from becoming very sick. Jake just scowled and was obviously not phased by her attempt at a rebuttal. As we left the office I marveled over how Jake screamed the whole way there and through most of the appointment only to not cry for his shots. Ironic and a bit irritating.

We stopped at Wendy’s on the way home, which was one of my failed bribes in the office, and as I ate my own comfort food, fries and a large coke, I was thrown under the bus by Jake. “Hey, Daddy…guess what? Mommy gave me my binkie back and she said I could keep it (Lies!).” My husband shot me the same disapproving looks I would have given him if the situation was reversed as I tried to explain just how “bad” this seemingly routine appointment was…I just hope the staff, whom we both physically and verbally abused on Thursday and Friday, forgets who I am before Joey’s 5 year old appointment next Tuesday.

Jake hopes the old adage is true, and that an apple a day will actually keep the doctor away

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Public Potties are a Nightmare

Thems my balls…

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