Hands to Yourself Doc

I have some great news to share with everyone…

Brooke had her cardiology appointment this week to check up on how she’s doing after being off her heart meds since she’s had open heart surgery for her complete AV canal…and she’s doing fantastic! There’s minimal leakage and her echo and EKG looked great, so now we go back in the middle of July and then hopefully we won’t have to go back for another six months.

However, there is some bad news…

I don’t want to go back to the cardiologist. Nope. I don’t like it there…I get all skeeved out when and jumpy when I know I have to go…kind of like when a dog knows they’re going to the vet. (And though I just referenced myself to a canine, don’t think that gives you all freedom to…only I can call myself a bitch)

Don’t get me wrong, it’s not like the endocrinologist’s office where I drop the F bomb and make the employees wish I would never come back, no, the office is actually quite pleasant. Everyone there is super nice to me and Brooke. All of my questions are promptly answered and when Brooke is wiggling around while the tech is attempting to get an echo he just sings to her and calms her down.

It’s the doctor.

He’s a hugger.

He hugs me.

And then I feel compelled to hug him back. Every. Single. Time.

And it’s not even like it’s Dr Hottie McYummy who actually did the surgery…nope, this is old man cardiologist who smells slightly of Ben Gay and mothballs.

I don’t know why he always hugs me…it’s not like when he walks into the room to see Brooke I’m standing there like this…

It’s not like this is pre-surgery and I need all the hugs and support I can get…nope, we’re in post surgery and Brooke is rocking it like you all wouldn’t believe…or, um, I guess you do believe it since I tell you all the time-but you get what I’m saying…

Did you all get that though, from before?

Brooke’s cardiologist hugs me. Gives me a good squeeze. Grabs my ass.

Okay, he doesn’t grab my ass…but isn’t the hug enough? Isn’t that enough to creep me out and make me never want to go back?

Maybe what I should do is try to weird him out first…then he’ll get creeped out by me and never go for the huggage again…yeah, that’s it…I’ll make him stop…

So here’s my plan, right when he walks in I’ll be there like this…

and then he’ll back up all nervous and I’ll have to act flustered like I didn’t know he wasn’t hugging me like that and then he’ll never go for the hug again!

Ha! I’m a genius…it isn’t just beauty over here people…no sir…it isn’t just beauty…

*thanks to everyone who tweeted out my last post! I totally know that twitter goes by fast and my tweets may not have been seen, but man oh man, those faces haunt me all day and in my sleep…thanks for spreading the word…who knows? maybe someone just found their child

How to Get the Doctor’s Number

Have you ever been so frustrated trying to get test results or a call back from your kid’s doctor? Me too…and now, I know exactly what you all need to do to get the doc’s personal cell phone number*…

Please note, this may only work in a specialist’s office…I happened to be at the pediatric endocrinologist…

First, you must make sure you get there when the receptionist tells you, or else they’ve got you, and no matter what, you were late, so there! My appointment was for 9 AM, and I was told to get there by 8:45 to have plenty of time to fill out paperwork, so Brooke and I were there promptly at 8:43…

I immediately check in, give up my license and Brooke’s insurance card, take my pile of paperwork and sit down to fill out the pages. I finish in about 15 minutes, give the paperwork back, get my stuff from her, sit down and wait.

Now, you must wait patiently…this is key. I was very patient…yes I was…until about 9:30. Seriously…I sat there, in the most uncomfortable chair ever created, very patiently, while Brooke crawled around and I messed around with my phone and felt my blood pressure rising.

I knew the doctor was there…I saw him saunter in at 9:10, and this whole time I was the only person in the waiting room. The only person.

Still, I didn’t say anything….in order to get the doctor’s personal phone number you must remain calm and let the staff make the first move. And so, at 9:35 the receptionist poked her head out of the window and assured me it would only be a few more minutes, they were waiting on labs.

Okey Dokey. A few more minutes, I could totally handle that.

Now it’s 9:45. Brooke is starting to flip out. I am sending angry texts to Eric and tweeting messages about the hellacious long wait I was experiencing. My back was on fire from those chairs…I was tired of waiting. I knew the doctor was there and still I was in the waiting room with my head about to explode….

Eric texted me asking why don’t I say something…I responded (at 9:51) that if I opened my mouth it wouldn’t be pretty…

And then the door opened and someone came out and said it was still going to be a few minutes, the labs hadn’t arrived…

And this is what you say to get the doctor’s personal cell phone number…

SHOULD I JUST GO HOME RIGHT NOW THEN? WHY THE HELL DID I GET HERE 15 FUCKING MINUTES EARLY TO FILL OUT PAPERWORK IF YOU PEOPLE CAN’T EVEN GET THE PAPERS YOU NEED?! WHAT THE HELL? SHOULD I JUST GO NOW? NO, NO I CAN’T, CAN I? THAT’S RIGHT I CAN’T! WE’RE STUCK, YOU GOT US! WE HAVE TO SEE A PEDIATRIC ENDOCRINOLOGIST AND YOU’RE THE FOLKS! THAT’S JUST FUCKING GREAT…YOU GOT US, YOU GOT US. WE HAVE TO WAIT FOR AS LONG AS YOU MAKE US. (BWAHAHAHAHA—hysterical laughter) MAYBE IF YOU’RE GOING TO MAKE PEOPLE WAIT FOR A RIDICULOUSLY LONG TIME YOU SHOULD HAVE CHAIRS THAT WEREN’T MADE BY SATAN!

Um, yeah…not my finest moment…but the chairs? Were really bad…here, I took a picture…

Well, 2 minutes later the labs arrived and some woman who looked scared to death came to collect us and put us in a room…

The doctor came, he was very pleasant, (and every two minutes we were interrupted by a nurse giving more labs) apologized** for my wait time, and assured me I had no need to ever call the front office. He wrote down his number for me to call and get results, and told me he’d call me back within the day whenever I called….

The check out girl looked terrified that I’d yell at her, so she ushered me out quickly after making my appointment and asking if it was okay, because she wanted to make sure that I was completely happy with what she gave me…

And that’s how you get the doctor’s personal phone number…

*not that…you dirty minded folk…

**I apologized for my behavior too…though I didn’t really mean it

Because I’m THAT Mom

I hate ears. Really I do. We’ve had so much ear drama the past few months between Brooke and Jack I wish we didn’t have any…you know, like the aliens…

So Jack…Jack….

Jack was having a really hard time listening in school…and he was putting the TV up so freaking loud I kept yelling at him…and he would ignore me! Oh, did he get in trouble! That little brat, who did he think he was? Ignoring me! Me! His mother! Yes, Jack spent many a time out for obnoxiously turning the TV up too loud and then ignoring me and pretending he couldn’t hear! Puh-leaze…I’m on to you little boy…I know your game…

I didn’t know his game. Jack apparently had so much thick goopy fluid in his ears he really couldn’t hear. Oops. And one might think that I’d recognize the signs since Brooke just had tubes put in her ears last late fall. One would think wrong. Talk about feeling like a bad mommy…oh well, mustn’t dwell…

So to the ENT we go, where we leave armed with prescriptions for an antibiotic, Flonase, a steroid to make it all work quickly, and instructions to come back in a few weeks…which brings us to today…

I was late, about 12 minutes, for my appointment. And for no other reason than I dawdled at a friends house when dropping Hope off and then stopping for hash browns for Jack. I made Eric call the office for me and come up with an excuse as for my tardiness (I don’t like to do things like that…especially when it’s my fault) and drove fast. So as punishment for my lateness I was forced to sit in the waiting room for over an hour.

So what do I do? I unstrap Brooke and let her crawl around. She’s happy, she’s playing, most importantly, she’s not crying, which I think is great for everyone else in the office. But some super old man had major beef with Brooke crawling everywhere and says to me, “she’s going to pick up every disease in this place!”. Well, for one we’re in an ENT office, not infectious disease, and for two…chill the eff out old man…

So what do I do? Not wanting to make a scene but wanting to do something I put a bunch of cheerios on the floor and encouraged Brooke to eat them. Yup, I did. I purposely had my baby eat off of the floor. I thought the old man would pass out…but Brooke was in heaven…and I was laughing my ass off…

We finally have our appointment and Jack is all cleared up…yeah! But the doc wants to continue the Flonase through the summer…yeah, so not going to happen! To give him that I have to sit on him, hold his hands down with one of my hands and squirt the spray up with the other while he screams that it burns. So, we’re not going to do that. But because I don’t want to get a lecture from the doc I’m pretending to go along with his suggestions..and if the fluid comes back I’ll just do the tubes…cuz that’s how I roll…

Brooke’s had tubes and I know what it entails…I also know what it’s like to give Jack nose spray twice a day…he hates me and goes to bed without saying good night to me or giving me a kiss! My Jackie! My little Oedipus! Jack lives to get kisses from me! So I opt for surgery…if the fluid comes back…

Because I’m that kind of mom…

*don’t forget to click here to enter my giveaway** for a $25 AMC gift card…

**seriously..enter the giveaway…

I’d Rather Spoon Out My Own Eyeballs

Than deal with Eric when he’s sick.
And I’m not exaggerating
Eric claims he is far too busy to go to the doctor (and he does work 14 hour days, so I’ll give him that, but not every day and he’s his own boss, so it’s not like he’s going to get in trouble for taking an hour off, but anyway….) so he walks around the house being sick and miserable for longer than necessary.
And when he does go to the doctor he never listens to what is said. Take antibiotics for ten days? Ha! If Eric feels better after five he’ll save the rest for the next time he’s not feeling well. Which is always soon after because he didn’t whatever bug completely out of his system, but when I point this out I have no idea what I’m talking about…
Right now Eric has been sick on and off for a couple of weeks and to top that he’s diagnosed himself with a hernia. Really. I’ll say it again. Self diagnosed himself with a hernia. Sounds pretty bad, I know. I have begged him to just go to the doctor but he won’t. According to the internet he just has a little hernia and if he rests it will fix itself. Phew, now I feel better…
It always gets to the point where I get angry…and I can’t even stand to see him sit on the couch and do nothing the days he’s not working. If you’re sick and can’t help me out, go into the bedroom! Then I’m heartless and I have no concern for his well-being! Aaaahhhh!!! How can he even say that? Have I not been begging him to go see what is really wrong? I can’t win.
After the anger comes the frustration. I get so crazy when he gets to sit and be sick and sleep in to the heavenly hour of 7:30 when I’ve been up since 5:30 even though I’ve been a little on the yucky side this past week too, but moms don’t get sick days. And though he reminds me that he’s working when he’s sick, it seems to slip his memory that when he’s home from work he gets to loaf and I’m the one making dinner, doing baths, and doing bedtime. (although I want everyone to know that when he’s in tip top shape he helps me out a lot).
And now that he’s sick, he totally has excuses for not doing the little things I keep asking to get done, like change a light bulb that been out for two weeks in our bedroom hallway, or maybe fix the freaking toilet before I go apeshit. That’s right, the toilet that has been driving me up the wall is still running, and everyday it gets a little worse.
I get so stressed out when Eric’s sick…why won’t he just go to the doctor and fix it? Why is lurking around here for weeks complaining a better option? Why does he want my blood pressure to go through the roof?
So pray for me tomorrow as you’re eating your turkey…pray that the spoons are far, far away from me…