My last post featured a happy family digging holes on a sunny Saturday in November. (Don't worry, we aren't throwing up.) By that night, I found myself waiting with Ben at the ER for stitches on the corner of his eye, the classic boy injury. Joseph had slashed him with a mini-stick in a friendly game of backyard hockey. They had attempted a coverup and Ben had arrived at supper wearing a sweatshirt with his hood up and drawn around his face. His father demanded that the hood come down and then Dave's eyes grew large as he asked, "Why is your head bleeding?" The story eventually came out and my plans for Saturday night became clear: a long wait and some quality time with Ben.
Truthfully, these sorts of things don't bother me in the slightest. I actually welcome such aberrations from our normal routine, they provide a good shake-up for someone who suffers from control issues. So, we ate at a leisurely pace and then headed over to our small hospital. It was a busy night there and we had a 1.5 hour wait (for which the staff apologized profusely). However, the school's custodian came in with bronchitis and I had someone with which to chat, even if she was wearing a mask.
When we were called in,the doctor arrived and I noticed that he had a small scar exactly where Ben would soon have one. He looked at Ben and laughed pointing to his own head, "I had a stomach bug last week and passed out in the bathroom and hit my head. I had to come to the ER too and have a doctor patch me up, buddy." This calmed Ben a bit (a calm Ben is able to speak rather than stare stonily at the wall and pretend he is not present; a calm Ben can communicate with hospital staff rather than appear slightly autistic). The doctor chose to glue Ben's wound and we were soon on our way back home.
As we drove home, I smiled as I recalled my clear prayer earlier this year that ER visits would only be for broken bones and stitches until I had recovered from the pneumonia trauma of the spring. Thank you, lord.
So, we headed into the week strong and glued together. Then Tuesday hit me.
Several months ago I had, in a fit of efficiency, booked all six children for booster shots at our family doctor's as well as two children at the dentist. Foolishly, I had thought that Dave might just be able to come. No such luck. Still, I wasn't dismayed and I packed the van, the diaper bag and the kids and started the hour long trek to Renfrew.
Our dentist's office was remodelled a few years ago and, strangely enough, it is quite a pleasant place to be. The walls are multicoloured and covered in original works of art; the staff are genuinely pleasant and happy to deal with the public; and it has one of the nicest and most spacious bathrooms in the county. Plus, there is a wonderful corner set aside with toys, a small desk and several chairs for the kids to play. Also, each time that I arrive, one of the hygienists has a bag of hand-me-down clothes ready and waiting for the boys. These people know how to keep our business.
The dental appointments were fine. And I didn't even get a parking ticket, unlike last time.
Then we headed over to our family doctor's for an 11am appointment. This was where my foresight proved in need of glasses. I hadn't factored in the proximity to lunch, Joseph's failure to eat more than a half a piece of bread for breakfast, and the wisest order in which to vaccinate the children and thus lessen the trauma.
Thankfully, the office was empty.
Joe volunteered to go first. At this point I was still unaware that his blood sugar was rapidly plummeting toward zero and that a relatively calm Joe would soon become a raging bull caught in a trap. My doctor was also unaware. Dr. Mac casually began looking through charts and loading up needles - all while various children wandered in and out of the room taking in the needles, the vials and the dawning reality. By the time that Dr. Mac was ready with injection in hand, Joe was nowhere to be found. I sent a brother out to the waiting room to look and then I noticed a crouching boy tucked between the wall and the examination table. Enter raging bull. I will spare you the details. Except that I was unable to keep Isaac from watching as sibling after sibling got the jab. If you are even remotely acquainted with our children's personalities, you can easily guess how each took the shot. Some were more stoic than others. In fact, Sarah, the most laid back of the bunch, received an injection in both legs; she opened her mouth to protest but seemed to realise that the damage was done and that there really was no point in wasting energy in crying.
And then we got to Isaac. Somehow I wrestled him onto the table and held him down long enough to receive a stab in the buttocks. However, he insisted on filing an immediate complaint with our doctor and jumped off the table, stared her square in the face and began to scream at the top of his lungs. Thank God this woman has four children of her own. It was at this point that Sarah wandered back in. Her sense of justice, previously latent, decided to make its first and grandest entrance. She entered the room and immediately perceived her elder brother's difficulties. She decided to unleash a similar storm of fury upon our poor practitioner, equalled only by that of Isaac who was still registering his displeasure. There really was nothing that I could do as these two three-foot tyrants rained down hell upon Dr. Mac and her medical staff. I shrugged my shoulders and smiled with one of those I-am-useless sort of smiles. The sort of smile that says, "Oops, here we are in the middle of a downpour with no jackets, umbrellas or shelter. We might as well wait it out and remain calm." Eventually the storm stopped, the older siblings popped in to say thank you (well, not Joe) and my doctor washed her hands (of us), smiled and looking pointedly at the kids, said, "Your mother and I are going for a drink. Not at Tim Hortons."
Did you think that was the end?
Gotcha. The next day I had yet more appointments to pick up my orthotics. On the way to our local hospital I stopped at the grocery store for milk. The cashier, noticing the look upon my face, said, "You look like you are at the end of your rope." I tried to explain that I had had dental and medical appointments with all the kids and no husband yesterday. However, in my haste, I jumbled my words and told her that I had had mental appointments with all of the kids and no husband yesterday. Apparently, mental is the logical amalgam of dental and medical. Starting more rumours.
And that's not where it stops.
Still with me?
I had noticed that both Joe's and Ben's injection sites were a little swollen and red. I chalked this up to a normal reaction and made a mental note to check later. Later came and Ben's had grown a little while Joe's arm was now swollen from shoulder to elbow - hot, red and hard. I phoned the doctor and learned that it was most likely infected. Thus, I found myself on the road during nap time once again making the trek to our doctor's office. (Please, no advice about changing doctors.) I asked Ben if he would drive so that I could rest, but he looked at me in confusion and wariness.
Anyway, we made it. Since no year is complete without a round of antibiotics, Joe is now on a five-day course. (Please, don't tell the anti-vaccination people about this incident.) The silver lining in this whole thing is that a very good friend was visiting in the morning and was able to stay for the afternoon and watch a sleeping Sarah so that I didn't have to drag the baby along as well. Thank you, Anne-Marie.
Also, I found the remains of a gift certificate that I had won six years ago in Renfrew to a jewellery shop. It was for $42.27 and I really doubted that they would honour it. However, after
the turmoil of vaccination-2013, I told the boys that I was stopping at a store that they would not be entering. Raging bulls do not do well in china shops. So, I went in and presented the receipt.
Perhaps the look of weariness softened the clerk's heart. She chirped, "Of course!" and I bought myself a beautiful pair of sterling silver hoops. A genuine silver lining.
Never again.
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