This winter has tested James’ immune system and my
patience. It started January 5th
with a trip to the pediatrician for what the two different doctors that examined him determined to be a severe diaper
rash, but a subsequent visit the next day confirmed our suspicions of a misdiagnosis and concluded that James, now splotchy for head to toe, had Hand-Foot-and-Mouth Virus. Trust me—it looks as bad as it sounds.
A week or so later, James’ temperature hit
that magic number of 101 at daycare (F.Y.I.-all daycare centers have some sort of
variation in this policy, but if you haven’t heard of the "magic number", it’s obviously the temperature at
which a child goes from being NOT contagious to contagious. He then, must go home immediately or, in some
cases, after a parent is scolded for being unable to predict that their kid
would spike a fever at exactly 11:32AM).
Did I mention that reaching the magic number warrants a doctor’s
note? So, off we go again…to the see the
doctor…to get a note…and an antibiotic for a respiratory tract infection. A very short time later, we found ourselves
back in the doctor’s office, this time with an ear infection and another
antibiotic. This was followed by a
double ear infection another trip to the doctor and another antibiotic. Then came James’ follow-up appointment at
Duke with his urologist, Dr. Wiener (yes, that’s his real name, yes, it’s
pronounced like hot dog wiener and yes, he is
a real urologist).
Two weeks passed and
I was starting to feel a little less guilty about the recent contribution to
antibiotic resistance the Foy Family had made.
That boost of self-esteem was short lived, and when the receptionist at
the pediatrician’s office called James by name as we walked in, a part of me
wanted to run and hide in a corner to escape judgment from other parents in the
waiting room while the other part of me wanted to drop into the fetal position
and admit defeat in my attempts to competently maintain proper hygiene practices.
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| On the bright side, James did learn to blow is nose...kinda. |
I didn’t mind my toddler clinging to me like a koala bear,
the BJ’s size Kleenex packs we went through every week or the girl’s night and
dinner dates I had to cancel. Eddie and
I were never extremely worried,
and I grew accustomed to traveling the 80 mile round trip journey to and from
James’ pediatrician's office about midway through January.
It was the waiting with a sick, un-happy, toddler that found
climbing on chairs and tables more amusing than the Little Mermaid playing in the waiting room that finally got to me. He
discovered how to pull the top off the Puffs container then threw an Oscar
worthy tantrum when I took them away because he had dropped so many there was a
Hansel and Gretel-like trail around the waiting room.
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| Where's James? |
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| There he is! |
Held prisoner in the examination room, he
used his imagination to convert the examination table into a fort and found the
perfect hiding spot inside the cabinets.
Quickly bored with the trucks and books I packed, we would pass time by
washing his hands at the sink in the room.
By the time the doctor made it to James, she might as well have been
examining a spider monkey because James started acrobatically swinging across the
room while “beep-beeping” like a dump trunk backing up. (Well, maybe
he didn’t swing per se, but the way he bounced from wall to cabinet to wall to
mama gave the illusion of swinging.)
So, a week before his 18-month check-up, I received a letter
in the mail: How to Prepare for Your
Child’s 18-month Check-Up. The list was
“cute” with its reminders to bring a list of current medications and allergies,
tips like dressing "your child” in easy to remove clothing and bringing a book
to share with your child while you wait, suggestions to tell “your child” where
you are going and what to expect, etc. I
laughed – I mean I REALLY laughed.
It’s hard to believe that the only guidance for keeping your child
occupied while being confined to a 10x10 room for half an hour was to “bring a
familiar book.” Oh really? Thanks for that awesome tip, because before
you mentioned it, I was kind of expecting a bouncy house and pony rides to occupy my kid so that I could update my facebook status or make my next move on words with friends.
Now, 2 months ago I would have been one of those naïve moms
that thought trips to the doctor always end with a Thomas the Train sticker and
a Safety-Pop. That Mama might have stuck
to the list and played by the rules, but a season of more or less camping out
in the doctor’s office makes a mama wiser.
My “What to Bring to the Pediatrician” now looks a little more like
this:
1.
Bring Your Game Face:
Child vs. Waiting Room is not a fair
match-up. Don’t approach the situation
like your typical afternoon trip to the park.
Think of it more as a mission that requires you to stay focused on
avoiding a meltdown at all costs. You
have to anticipate your child’s next move – be there before he stands on the
table and makes monkey noises, have food in your hand before the “I’m hungry”
tantrums start. Don’t let your mind slip
to the grocery list you need to make or the dinner date you have planned for
Saturday. That’s when kids make their
move…and then you’re screwed.
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| Thanks Lorenzo (and The News and Observer) |
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| This is what a game face looks like. |
2.
Toys:
You
know how when you go to the doctor, you’re always disappointed that the newest
issue of US Weekly still has pre-preggo Snooki or how all the good recipes from
Southern Living Magazine are ripped out?
Well, that’s how a kid feels about the toys in the pediatrician’s
office. Bring at least 3 or 4 small
toys. ONLY 1 of these should make noise and
the noise should not be an annoying song.
Pull the noise-making toy out when you’re in the holding pin exam
room. Noisy toys not only awaken the
sleeping baby across the room, they also draw more attention to your child and
most likely will end in some sort of wrestling match between your child and
another child whose mom only used the letter to prep for the appointment.
3.
“E-Z Grabber”:
You may also want to bring along an “E-Z Grabber” to rescue these toys after
your kid has found a very deep crevice in which to wedge an object. Every mom has performed some advanced yoga position
or force an elbow to become double-jointed in an attempt to reach a 99 cent toy
party favor because a beloved dinosaur has fallen down a vent or lodged itself deep
in a ½ inch wide crack. This is where
the grabber becomes the Jaws of Life, and you can effortlessly seize that
all-important object and stave off that instinctive meltdown.
4.
A Cardigan:
Nothing screams I’m a responsible grown-up like a cardigan. It’s the non-verbal way of communicating to
the doctor that you have obviously NEVER
forgotten the diaper bag or given my kid French fries. It’s also an awesome article of clothing for
quickly covering up any spit-up, drool, dried food your child wiped on your
shirt, coffee you spilt carrying 25 things to the car, and if your child has a
runny nose…okay, we won’t go there. Just
trust me…bring the cardigan.
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| Cardigan Mom's version of lunch: Turkey, cheese (2% milk of course), orange pepper topped with hummus and blueberries. |
5.
Food – lots of it:
The Perfect Storm: A hungry kid—confined in a
10x10 room – the snacks run out. DON’T
give him the whole bag of Cheerios – he’ll eat it all in one sitting and you’ll
find yourself rummaging through your purse for that half-eaten Twix bar from
earlier or that stale granola bar you packed 2 months ago. Save the candy bribery for the drive home. If
the doctor walk in the middle of your kid’s sugar high or your kid smears the
remnants of a melted Hersey Bar on the pediatrician’s white coat, the cardigan facade
becomes null and void.
7. Don't Forget Your Kid...
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