Why do pediatrician's TORTURE mothers with their waiting room policies? First off, if and when I call for a "sick appointment", it's no secret that by the time I'm picking up the phone I'm at the end of my rope. I haven't slept, they haven't slept, and there's snot or vomit flying all over my house and this isn't the FIRST day! So I call, and the receptionist puts me on hold, and then transfers me, and then I listen to the nurse's voice mail....can SOMEONE just take two seconds to hear me out please?!?! MY KID IS SICK!!! WHEN CAN I COME IN????
So, that's the message I left the nurse. She didn't call back. Big surprise.
I waited 30 minutes and then threw myself to the dogs, again. Rewind tape, repeat. Only this time, I took a deep breath before leaving a message, "Hi. This is Shelby and Ana's mom, I would like an appointment today with any doctor to see my snotty, diarrhea, goopy-eyed, coughing, harking, vomiting children. Please call me back if you have an appointment today so we may come to your office and infect the rest of the living world with our sickliness. Click."
She called back!!! And then she said, "Can you be here at 9:45?"
The clock read 9:18. And we had a 15 minute drive into town!!!! I swear those receptionists live to torture me. I had no choice, no makeup, and not a minute to spare. The girls and I turned on our tornado speed and whirled out of the house like that Tasmanian Devil thing leaving behind a pile of rubble in our living room.
We arrived 4 minutes late. Signed in. Then sat in the waiting room for exactly 42 minutes before seeing a doctor.
THIS PLACE SHOULD BE CALLED THE PARENT TORTURE CHAMBER!!!!!! I'd rather be water boarded! And the whole time we were in the waiting room, all I could think about was the other three germs we didn't have that were lingering on the floor and on the toys just waiting to infect us AGAIN.
Cut to the part when we leave The Parent Torture Chamber/Doc's Office with three prescriptions in hand and a giant light bulb appears over my head. Why does this always happen at the worst moments? I realize we are downtown and have a FREE parking place, and this is where the Torture Chamber MUST have affected my common sense, I actually bypassed the car and decided to take my sick children SHOPPING!!!
They were hungry, I was now legally insane so what better place to go than a restaurant? And stop in to a few shoe stores along the way. After we ate, I had the good sense to direct us toward the bathroom before heading home....cuz with my luck...
We squeezed through the bathroom door with our stroller, ADA Accessible my ass! Shelby jumped up onto the toilet to do her business while I wrestled Ana into the stroller before she ate the trash and licked the floor.
"Uh-Oh Mommy (not the words you want to hear...ever)," an apologetic looking Shelby stared up at me from her perch on the toilet and announced, "I peed on my panties."
That's when someone jiggled the bathroom door handle. Great, an impatient audience to add to my panic.
Conveniently, Shelby had chosen to wear shoes, socks, and skinny jeans. She might as well have added leg warmers and a padlock cuz taking all this crap off of her in a bathroom with nowhere to sit was an acrobatic feat I did not care to attempt today. I considered our options.
"Did you pee on your pants, too?"
She jumped off the toilet and felt around in her pants, "No."
There is a God.
So I pulled on my Super Mom cape, whipped out a Swiss Army knife with the dullest blade EVER, stretched Shelby's panties as far as they would go and proceeded to saw them off of her at the leg holes. And then, like some exotic tear away undies, we yanked off the ragged remains of her "Monday" Panties and said our goodbyes as the white and purple underwear sailed through the air on their way to the trash.
"Okay, honey, all set. Let's wash our hands."
As we emerged from the bathroom, I decided the game was up, we should head directly home, DO NOT PASS GO, DO NOT COLLECT $200.
So, that's the message I left the nurse. She didn't call back. Big surprise.
I waited 30 minutes and then threw myself to the dogs, again. Rewind tape, repeat. Only this time, I took a deep breath before leaving a message, "Hi. This is Shelby and Ana's mom, I would like an appointment today with any doctor to see my snotty, diarrhea, goopy-eyed, coughing, harking, vomiting children. Please call me back if you have an appointment today so we may come to your office and infect the rest of the living world with our sickliness. Click."
She called back!!! And then she said, "Can you be here at 9:45?"
The clock read 9:18. And we had a 15 minute drive into town!!!! I swear those receptionists live to torture me. I had no choice, no makeup, and not a minute to spare. The girls and I turned on our tornado speed and whirled out of the house like that Tasmanian Devil thing leaving behind a pile of rubble in our living room.
We arrived 4 minutes late. Signed in. Then sat in the waiting room for exactly 42 minutes before seeing a doctor.
THIS PLACE SHOULD BE CALLED THE PARENT TORTURE CHAMBER!!!!!! I'd rather be water boarded! And the whole time we were in the waiting room, all I could think about was the other three germs we didn't have that were lingering on the floor and on the toys just waiting to infect us AGAIN.
Cut to the part when we leave The Parent Torture Chamber/Doc's Office with three prescriptions in hand and a giant light bulb appears over my head. Why does this always happen at the worst moments? I realize we are downtown and have a FREE parking place, and this is where the Torture Chamber MUST have affected my common sense, I actually bypassed the car and decided to take my sick children SHOPPING!!!
They were hungry, I was now legally insane so what better place to go than a restaurant? And stop in to a few shoe stores along the way. After we ate, I had the good sense to direct us toward the bathroom before heading home....cuz with my luck...
We squeezed through the bathroom door with our stroller, ADA Accessible my ass! Shelby jumped up onto the toilet to do her business while I wrestled Ana into the stroller before she ate the trash and licked the floor.
"Uh-Oh Mommy (not the words you want to hear...ever)," an apologetic looking Shelby stared up at me from her perch on the toilet and announced, "I peed on my panties."
That's when someone jiggled the bathroom door handle. Great, an impatient audience to add to my panic.
Conveniently, Shelby had chosen to wear shoes, socks, and skinny jeans. She might as well have added leg warmers and a padlock cuz taking all this crap off of her in a bathroom with nowhere to sit was an acrobatic feat I did not care to attempt today. I considered our options.
"Did you pee on your pants, too?"
She jumped off the toilet and felt around in her pants, "No."
There is a God.
So I pulled on my Super Mom cape, whipped out a Swiss Army knife with the dullest blade EVER, stretched Shelby's panties as far as they would go and proceeded to saw them off of her at the leg holes. And then, like some exotic tear away undies, we yanked off the ragged remains of her "Monday" Panties and said our goodbyes as the white and purple underwear sailed through the air on their way to the trash.
"Okay, honey, all set. Let's wash our hands."
As we emerged from the bathroom, I decided the game was up, we should head directly home, DO NOT PASS GO, DO NOT COLLECT $200.
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