Everything Is Better in Stick Form
I took all three kids to see the doctor yesterday morning. I felt a little silly taking them to the doctor for what was essentially a cold, but they’d gone a week without improving, and Ellie thought at least one of our children had an ear infection, what with the law of averages and everything. I hesitated a bit, deluding myself into thinking they were finally a little better today, but when the boys melted down simultaneously, I knew it was time to visit the doctor, if for no other reason than to get out of the house.
I walked up to the receptionist to check in. She didn’t laugh when I told her that I wanted a walk-in appointment for all three children, so I took that as a good sign. We were there on a Thursday, not a peak day, and in the morning when most of their patients are still asleep, so their docket shouldn’t have been too full.
This visit didn’t have to be complicated. I just needed someone to look in six ears, check for an infection, and write a prescription if needed. Unfortunately the words “healthcare” and “complicated” go together like “Tom Cruise” and “crazy.” The receptionist had to enter our names into the system, collect our insurance information even though it’s still exactly the same as last time, inform us of our HIPA rights, and generally stall us until a room was ready.
The boys cooperated during the check-in wait fairly well. They’d complain, I’d shake a rattle, and they’d be distracted for another couple minutes. Abbie was more of a handful, squirming about the room, digging in the diaper bag, and generally preventing me from reading anything before signing it.
Another woman, a fellow waiting room waiter, saw her bouncing about the room, and tried to help me. She offered to share her breakfast with Abbie. Her breakfast was a box of French toast sticks from a fast food restaurant. They looked horribly unhealthy with a sugar content that would send her bouncing off the walls even harder, but that wasn’t why I turned her down. I told her “no thanks” because I was certain Abbie wouldn’t like them, as she usually dislikes bread-like substances.
Abbie did her best to make an ogre out of me, first by simply staring at the woman as she ate, and then by adding an “mmm” sound as she took a bite. Abbie must not have realized what they were, possibly because the dipping syrup made them look like chicken nuggets.
The woman told Abbie to ask me for permission. I again assured her that she wouldn’t like them, and hoisted Abbie onto the counter to wait. Abbie made a few more “mmm” sounds before I distracted her with the pen. I figured I might as well make her sign some of my busy work.
Finally we went back to the waiting room to have their ears checked. But first we had to strip the children, weigh them, check their vitals, and prevent everyone from grabbing delicate doctor’s office instruments. Finally the doctor checked their ears, and the verdict was Abbie had an ear infection, and the boys were just cranky. He gave us a prescription, and we rushed out to fill it. It was close to naptime, so we just drove to the pharmacy and back, but I was tempted to stop at a fast food restaurant on the way for some of those French toast sticks.
I walked up to the receptionist to check in. She didn’t laugh when I told her that I wanted a walk-in appointment for all three children, so I took that as a good sign. We were there on a Thursday, not a peak day, and in the morning when most of their patients are still asleep, so their docket shouldn’t have been too full.
This visit didn’t have to be complicated. I just needed someone to look in six ears, check for an infection, and write a prescription if needed. Unfortunately the words “healthcare” and “complicated” go together like “Tom Cruise” and “crazy.” The receptionist had to enter our names into the system, collect our insurance information even though it’s still exactly the same as last time, inform us of our HIPA rights, and generally stall us until a room was ready.
The boys cooperated during the check-in wait fairly well. They’d complain, I’d shake a rattle, and they’d be distracted for another couple minutes. Abbie was more of a handful, squirming about the room, digging in the diaper bag, and generally preventing me from reading anything before signing it.
Another woman, a fellow waiting room waiter, saw her bouncing about the room, and tried to help me. She offered to share her breakfast with Abbie. Her breakfast was a box of French toast sticks from a fast food restaurant. They looked horribly unhealthy with a sugar content that would send her bouncing off the walls even harder, but that wasn’t why I turned her down. I told her “no thanks” because I was certain Abbie wouldn’t like them, as she usually dislikes bread-like substances.
Abbie did her best to make an ogre out of me, first by simply staring at the woman as she ate, and then by adding an “mmm” sound as she took a bite. Abbie must not have realized what they were, possibly because the dipping syrup made them look like chicken nuggets.
The woman told Abbie to ask me for permission. I again assured her that she wouldn’t like them, and hoisted Abbie onto the counter to wait. Abbie made a few more “mmm” sounds before I distracted her with the pen. I figured I might as well make her sign some of my busy work.
Finally we went back to the waiting room to have their ears checked. But first we had to strip the children, weigh them, check their vitals, and prevent everyone from grabbing delicate doctor’s office instruments. Finally the doctor checked their ears, and the verdict was Abbie had an ear infection, and the boys were just cranky. He gave us a prescription, and we rushed out to fill it. It was close to naptime, so we just drove to the pharmacy and back, but I was tempted to stop at a fast food restaurant on the way for some of those French toast sticks.
posted by Matt at
11:50 PM
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