Waiting…


Since I’ve been sick, my mind has been focused on health, wellness, and disease.  Well, also Christmas shopping, the messy house, and how badly the Maiden will embarrass us in her school play tonight, but primarily sickness, doctors and medicine.

When I was in highschool, biology was my most loathed subject.  In fact, I always said that I went to law school specifically so that I could avoid studying medicine.

Then, in a totally-not-funny-but-actually-hilarious turn of fate, I gave birth to an asthmatic, allergic kid.  Consequently, I know more about the anatomy and physiology of the respiratory system, and treatments for problems with said system, than any unpaid person ought to.  I don’t feel qualified to teach a class in it, but if I wasn’t worried about medical lawsuits (you can’t take the law away from the lawyer, I guess), I probably would.

During our time spent in and out of doctors’ offices and the ER, I’ve also learned some more universal truths.

  • Your wait time will always be double the number of minutes that the back-breaking sack of books, games, and snacks you brought along can last you.
  • No matter how sick your child is, there will always be one who’s sicker.  And the the more contagious the other kid, the more interested your kid will be in becoming her new BFF.
  • Before you leave home, your child could be delirious with fever, lying listless on the couch and refusing even lollipops and Cinderella marathons.  But the second you set foot in the ER, she is on the ground, bouncing off walls like a mad fool.  The nurses see the blur as she zips by, say “Hypochondriac mama,” and put you at the bottom of the list.
  • Then, of course, by the time you do get seen by the doctor, she’s either recovered on her own (only to relapse the second you get home), or gotten so bad that she needs to be hospitalized for the entire weekend.
  • You will need a change of clothes for the whole family.  Climbing the ER walls exacerbates coughing, which results in children puking cinnamon cookie-scented barf all over themselves, you, and the overpriced do-not-wash-this Kitty from Build-A-Bear.  Of course, you are secretly relieved that said puking occurred before your kid devoured mustard, onion, and chicken subs.
  • Hospital floors are dirty.  But after two hours of sitting in the outpatient room, you will probably allow your child to step on it, crawl on it, drool on it, drop their doll on it.  You won’t go so far as to give her back the muffin she dropped on it, but if she doesn’t stop screaming in 5 seconds you might be very, very tempted to do so.
  • Lastly, your kid might squirm, whine, and complain about being checked by the doctor.  Yet, inexplicably, when you’re the one who needs to be seen, she turns into a screaming hellion because she wants the doctor to check her, she is very very sick **fake cough fake cough* when is it my turn pleeeeeeeeeeeeeeeaaaaaaaaaaaaase.  On the other hand, the doctor sees you, pities you, and prescribes you a stronger dose.

As I said, I have a lot of medical knowledge, but I’d prefer to have a little less, thanks.  Let’s hope the New Year is ER-free!

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