The Pediatrician's Office, Take 200

I hate going to the pediatrician. I hate it. It makes me feel small and stupid and uselessly overprotective. It's always the same and I never learn. I wrote this exact same post last year, only it was longer, because I had more energy for bitching at that time.

One of the kids has an issue of some kind. For days. At first, I'm all, kids, fevers, issues. Blech. Don't give it to me you small, adorable germ-spreading machine.

And then, one of the two adults involved cracks. (Ahem. MATT!!) Do you think it's serious? NO. What if? Googling happens. It's all down hill. I end up in a small not-as-sterile-as-I'd-like-to-think examining room being patronized by the very people who assured me on the phone, less than two hours ago, that yes, dumbass, your child should be seen by a doctor! today! at 11:00! drop everything!

I do! Because I love my kids and I feel slightly responsible for their well being. Thankfully, there's never a damn thing wrong with them except that they are kids and they are gross and they put their germy hands on everything and then into their mouths on a regular basis. Which I knew. But I can not resist the siren call to sit in that office and stare at the sad fish and be told what I freaking dumbass I am.

I'm not bitter. I just blame Matt.

About a month ago, Cue broke out in a horrendous rash all over his itsy bitty little baby body. It was red and horrible and everywhere. He was on amoxicillin at the time for an ear infection that I had ABSOLUTELY no idea he had. I sent him off with his father to his eighteen month well baby check thinking, well, mostly that he was an incredibly well baby. Whoops.

On rash night, I felt calm because he wasn't swelling or having any trouble breathing. I gave him a bath and Benadryl and went to bed figuring he'd be fine in the morning. In the morning, he was covered in the same rash only redder and possibly more comprehensive.

But, still breathing normally and non-swelly and all that good stuff. I have to admit, I expected the rash to be gone. Matt told me to call the nurse at the pediatrician's office and see what they thought. I didn't want to do it. Because, um, because the nurse ALWAYS says we have to bring whatever kid I'm calling about to the doctor and it's always nothing and the doctor is always nice but patronizing and it's a big huge colossal waste of my time and germ exposure and a $30.00 co-pay besides.

That's a lot of chai tea lattes to be told that your kid is fine and why are you here again you crazy woman? OH YEAH! Because your NURSE told me to come.

I especially did not want to call for the rash because I fed Cue shrimp for dinner the night before and I had little recollection (absolutely none) of whether the rash started before or after the shrimp dinner. It also may not have been the first time he had shrimp and yes he's only like 20 months old and oh my god I totally followed that food allergy rule about only one new food a month until they are eighteen (or maybe three, whatever) with Gee, but now I have a million kids and it's hard and he eats peanut butter, so what's a little shellfish, really?

I called. He's little and he was all rashy. As usual, the nurse freaked me out and said I needed to bring him in because he could have an! amoxicillin! allergy! I pointed out on the phone that I had observed carefully and he was breathing fine. Tongue normal size, etc.

We went and we sat and it sucked. The doctor took one look at him and kind of pushed on him a little and told me that so long as the rash turns white when you push on it, they don't worry about it all that much. That's called blanching, apparently. If a rash blanches, it's just a non-worrying all over your baby's body rash. So yeah. Thanks for that. Good to know. YESTERDAY.

Oh and there's no way to know if it's the amoxicillin or the shrimp or something else, but why are you feeding him shrimp again?

For kicks? Hoping to set off some kind of allergic chain reaction in my twenty-month-old? I'm dumb? No. Because that's what I had in my fridge. And I wanted it. And he wants what I eat and he's had it before and so I...

Whatever. The doctor rolled her eyes and said not to feed him shrimp and that she would note a possible amoxicillin reaction, but not an allergy because that would be a huge pain if he ever needs antibiotics in the future. Oh and as far as rashes go, no biggie, but if he ever has trouble breathing after eating shrimp or taking any medicine, go to an ER.

Thank you for that. I might have called your nurse.

Yesterday was the fourth day that Gee ran a fever with no other symptoms at all. I kept waiting for puking or snot or something, but nothing. I stood firm against Matt's call the nurse crap for a while because I have been down this road numerous times and I know where it leads. The nurse will tell me to bring him in IMMEDIATELY. The doctor will look at me like I'm insane and god I hate it so freaking much. NO. Also, thirty bucks.

Matt. Voice of parenting reason. Mr. rational. Mr. "it's worth thirty dollars to know he's okay."
Oh yeah? Mr. reasonable. Is it worth my pride? Is it?

He only pretends to be so zen, in actuality, he googled recurring fever with slight headache and got Kawasaki's syndrome and he was secretly losing his shit. Not so much that he was going to the pediatrician to be snorted at, though. That's my lot in life.

I called. Reluctantly. The nurse said I had to bring him in. Of course. There's not a damn thing wrong with him. Of course.

He was lethargic and feverish for FOUR days and damn it all if he didn't bounce into that office like he was a candidate for the healthiest kid in the world competition. Normal temperature. The universe has some kind of grudge against me. She asked me if he'd been eating.

"No, not really, he's been pretty off," I explained.
"I'd like eggs," chirped Gee, "and cookies."

Over my dead body. Would it kill you to look a little lethargic, just for a few more minutes? Please.

"I don't know," she said helpfully, "but in general, if the fever stays under 102 or so, we don't run additional tests, unless there's some other indication of a problem. If it spikes above that in the next few days, give us a call."

Sigh. Yet another delightful nugget of information that it would be oh-so-helpful to receive over the phone. There's been not one sign of a fever since that moment. Not one.

And yes, I would rather look like an idiot than have something actually be wrong with my child, but I can still bitch about it. Repeatedly, every six months or so. Thanks for listening.

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Hey, also, (blush) thank you for playing the guessing game about the baby with me. It just made my pregnancy that so many of you were willing to get excited with me and play along. Special thanks to all of you who predicted a birthday before my due date, you know the way to an eight-month-pregnant girl's heart. I wish I could give you all hand-made blankets.