Posts Tagged ‘sick kids’

I don’t usually cry in doctor’s reception areas, but today I did. Twice.

Friday, May 3rd, 2013

I had an epic day yesterday. I got to work with a childhood hero, doing a dream job for Penguin books. I ran a workshop with English teachers on Melina Marchetta’s books and it went really well. I missed my boys, but I loved being back in my old skin for a day.  So you would think I might be a bit untouchable today. It wasn’t the case.

In my household, we are coming off a week of the boys taking it in turns to get sick. Unexplained vomiting, four trips to the doctors later and mixed reports, nightmares, bed hopping, sore throats, and something I can’t even put here in words, equals everyone being a bit worn down. Add to that preparing for the trip of a lifetime and I suppose the warning bells should have sounded before it went as pear shaped as it did.

The wild child refuses medicine. I even bribed him with a new toy last week to take Panadol to get his temp down, but he immediately threw it up, then looked over to me through his tears, checking he would still get the toy. So four days of complaining of a sore throat that we have both had was it for me. I took him in. And I knew medicine was never going to be the answer.

At the risk of making a gross understatement, he doesn’t like the doctors much. About as much as the bubba likes strangers. So put us in a room with two doctors, both about 22, and try and look into the very sore throat. I swear I would have had more success wrestling two baby goats onto a bicycle than I did trying to hold, calm, assist and actually help the doctor look in his mouth. Then another doctor also has to have a look and by now both kids are screaming their heads off and trying to sit on my lap simultaneously.

Then the words came;” Well you look like you have your hands full.” And that was all it took. No actually the next sentence was the clincher, “You are doing such a good job.”

I resisted punching all three of them and instead burst into tears. I don’t know what it is about those words but they press buttons for me. They might be sympathetic and just grateful it isn’t them, but I interpret this as “you have absolutely no control over these little monsters and you look like you are losing your mind.” I rarely do have control, and at that point my mind was kicking back on a beach somewhere, gone, way out of  my reach. So I burst into tears. Me, the wild child, the bubba all bawling, all for different reasons, All inconsolable.

And then we head to the treatment room for the inevitable needle in the bum.

Well if I wasn’t already crying, tricking my son into lying on his tummy with my phone, then lying to him and then pinning him down, with the baby on the floor also screaming was sure to do it.  Watching that massive needle go in, knowing exactly what that feels like and hurting for him was awful. And then the bloody receptionist was so nice, she carried my crying, squirming bubba, because while I can carry them both to the car, getting the keys out and them in is a whole other ball game.

And then 20 minutes later we do it again, this time at my doctor and this time in a much bigger, busier waiting room, with people I knew. We had bought a Lego treat for getting the needle, but of course in true almost-four-year-old style, the Lego needed to be opened and assembled instantly, and the little brother who is pushing him and didn’t get a needle, is touching the precious new toy. So the wild child pushes the wobbly bubba over. He smacks his head, screams, I remove the Lego, threaten to bin it and try and get him to sit on a seat as a time out. Bahahaha why would that work? It is public, people have nothing to do except look at you, and everyone has the pleasure of my Parenting 101: How to respond to hurting your sibling in public.

What do I do? I start crying, or keep crying to be honest.

Why? I was mortified. Humiliated. Frustrated. Alone. Judged. And I felt like a tennis ball with razor blades had taken up residence in my throat.

So I walked outside. Left my stuff, took the baby and went out the front. Amazingly the screaming wild child follows and sits down when I ask him to. He looks at me, sees that I am crying, reaches up and gives me a cuddle. Well at least there is some element of empathy in him, even when he is sick, angry and has a very sore bum cheek. We return, with a tenuous grip on my sanity and this time this receptionist also comes over to see if I am okay. How do you reply to that? Yeah thanks, I just cry a lot in doctor’s surgeries when my kids are going bananas.

It’s almost enough to get me through the news that I have a virus, (so the public exhibition was a total waste of time, not to mention money), then that my grumpy, bubba who has just stopped vomiting, has a burst ear drum. Poor little mite! That might explain a week of crying. And with any luck it might mean he starts to feel better, just in time for the trip.

So we hop in the car and we come home. I can’t face any more public humiliation today. Let the penicillin kick in for the wild child and the bubba’s ear release the pressure it’s built up. And maybe even let my crazy brain just settle back down.

I need a rest, before we go back for round two tomorrow.

 

 

 



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