Yearly Check Ups

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Not mine thank you…the kids. In a moment of what could only be described as insanity, I volunteered to take both boys (simulatneously) to the Dr’s. office for their yearly checkup. Ethan was due for his yearly and Aiden for his monthly.

We arrived at the scheduled time of 8:30 as we were supposed to, and were behind probably 4-5 others who were there with their sick kids, ranging in age from infant up to at least 15. This one mother, acted as I imagine my adopted mom would have if suddenly faced with actually having to care for a child. She didn’t have a clue. I mean, come on, anyone who goes to the doctor knows the routine right?

…you walk in…you sign in…they give you a chart to fill out and you hand them your insurance card…sometimes you immediately pay your co-pay, and you get the heck outta the way. Not so, this mom. She fumbled, she mumbled, she SET HER PURSE ON THE FLOOR TO LOOK FOR HER INSURANCE CARD. And then…and then, when all that was done, she just stood there in front of the sign-in sheet and wouldn’t move. The kicker was that her kid was a teenager and here she is acting like it’s the first time she’s been to the Dr. Lay off the Prozac lady and plug into reality. (Dear Lord, please forgive me. I’m sorry for making fun of people with mental instability and those pygmies over in New Guinnea…”)

Here I am, holding a not-too-light infant and carrier, while trying to herd my older son away from the sick kids and into the “Well children” side of the office.

Luckily, before there was an evisceration, the lady finally moved and things proceeded as normally. We were called back…well, actually my youngest son was called back and then when I explained they both had appointmentes, well…I think I just completely threw her for a loop. She placed us in a room while they “sort it all out.” (with a sickly sweet smile that makes you just want to say, “Don’t bother, I’ll find another pediatrition.” Which I won’t because it’s way too difficult a proposition.”)

So finally about 20 minutes later, two ladies come in to tag-team us and they proceed to ask for my oldest son’s cooperation, and in response he stuck his finger up his nose and proceeded to hide behind a chair. Now normally, this is where I’d grab an arm and drag him out kicking and screaming all the while threatening a spanking, but I’m in pubic, so instead I use the old, “You won’t got to the train show today unless you do this” argument. And it works a little; at least enough that they do what they need to do. My youngest son was easy…all they had to do was remove his clothes and he was ready to go.

So, when they left, they told me to take off all my oldest son’s clothes down to his underwear (you mean diaper?) and wait for el doctor. Thirty minutes later, I’m out of soothing bottle for the infant, my oldest son has run through his gamut of toys and I’m getting steamed. I stick my head out the door and start complaining to the first lackey I could find, who actually stood her ground fairly well, until I used the, “I don’t care how many sick kids came in ahead of me, we had an appointment. If you can’t staff enough to meet your obligations, then don’t make any.” There was nothing she could say to that really, so I win!

Finally the doctor came in, one of the few we really like there, and that really saved the day. The kids are healthy, the Dr. used his authority to tell my older son that “Picking your nose is an ugly habit,” and “You should use the potty ALL the time.” We’ll see how well that works.

At any rate, I got out with my sanity (just barely) and major brownie points with my wife, which is really worth gold in these days of precious few moments of “me” time. So, alls well that ends well, at least until next year.

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