Has the patient been here before?
That's what they always ask at Children's Healthcare of Atlanta. And I have to say, "Yes, several times."
We're that family, the one with the kids who break legs and split gums and swallow rocks and urinate blood for unexplained reasons (benign hematuria, they call it. WTF NOBODY TOLD ME MY KID WAS GOING TO URINATE BLOOD FOR NO REASON, I call it). They get severe jaundice and get burned on flying kernels of popcorn (seriously, a kernel about to pop hits a temperature of about 400 degrees, which is enough to badly burn a child standing three feet away when said kernel flies out, unpopped, hits the bowl, skids, and soars into the collar of his shirt. Can't make this shit up.) So Friday when the receptionist asked me that I said, "Yes, we're frequent flyers."
See, not only do my kids have a talent for getting ill or injured, they like to do it after 5 pm, preferably on a weekend.
This time I was pretty sure at least one person was going to be patronizing or treat me like I was totally insane, but Big Ez's 103* fever and making-him-scream headache did allow us to skip triage and go right to our own room, so it wasn't until they came in for the is-the-mom-nuts pre-doctor interview that they decided I was crazy.
"Well, he was bitten by a Lone Star tick on Monday, and now, five days later, he has bright red eyes, a 103 fever, stiff joints, and a headache that is making him wail. No other symptoms of anything." Meanwhile, Ez is obligingly crying and looking positively debilitated, asking everyone who comes in, "Are you going to give me a SHOT?!?"
One of the doctors asked me total setup questions, like, "Has he been around anyone showing obvious signs of illness?" No, jackass, I wouldn't have brought him here if he had a childhood special. But in my out-loud voice I just said no, so she follows up with a patronizing smile and says, "So, he hasn't been around any other children at all for weeks? You see, children get sick."
If I had had anything with which to shank her, I likely would have. Not for thinking I was nuts--fine, think I'm nuts--but for being so condescending. Sometimes I want to tell doctors, Look, I read books about DNA construction and plate tectonics and medical history for FUN, okay? I know what a freaking virus is and what an antibiotic does, so stop talking slowly and get on with it. I can follow along.
But I didn't. I just smiled politely and held my sobbing, burning-hot child, and kept repeating myself: "You don't know this child, and he would not be crying like this unless his head hurts horribly."
The woman actually told me, "If he's running a fever, you can give him something before coming here. There's no reason to torture him because it won't change our protocol."
As much as I regretted inconveniencing Dr. Fraser, of course, I wasn't there for fun or because I like "torturing" my kid. (I did feel a little smug, although sorry for Ez, when the administered Tylenol failed to decrease his fever.)
One thing that was clear was that Ez had no interest in whatever their protocol was, and was mortally afraid of getting a shot.
While we sat and he shivered and shook and watched Kung Fu Panda, a smiling blonde woman came in carrying a clipboard and a bag. She sat down and started telling me that she was employed by the hospital in a special capacity, and I thought, my God, they've finally called the crazy police and CPS on me, and it wasn't for the broken leg. I had every expectation that this cheerful woman was there to tell me that they're onto me and I am Munchausen Mom. My mind was spinning: oh, my God, they're going to think that because he's afraid of shots I make him get a lot of shots and now we're here for something vague and at least if they're videotaping us the worst thing I did was check my email on my phone because OH MY GOD THEY THINK I'M MUNCHAUSEN MOM.
So you can imagine my relief when she identified herself as being there to help kids who are obviously scared of doctors. She talked to Big Ez about his blood test and how it was going to go down, and brought a find-the-pictures book to distract him. That was the theory, at least, until the actual blood test occurred, which entailed a lot of screeching and wailing and hiding under a sheet and me, the nurse, a blood tech, and the nice lady with the book--and the promise of a popsicle, which he took grudgingly, like he was doing US a favor.
One of the peds who visited us did NOT think I was nuts, and actually told me that she'd have done the same thing. I explained that had he gotten this fever and headache during the day I'd have been happy to take him to his pediatrician, and likely only in light of the tick thing anyway. Otherwise I'd assume Childhood Special and operate business as usual.
What it all boils down to is that the boy is now being treated for ehrlichiosis, a tick-borne illness that when treated promptly--as in, during the period when people will think you are either an overprotective parasite-fearer or Munchausen Mom--is pretty harmless, but if left for even a short period can cause freaking organ failure.
Smug Doctor's son is going next week to the same horse camp where Ez picked up his little parasite friend this week. I bet you $20 that despite her superciliousness, her kid is going to be emitting a cloud of DEET so thick that he needs a gas mask. And THEN who is the overprotective mom, eh?
We're that family, the one with the kids who break legs and split gums and swallow rocks and urinate blood for unexplained reasons (benign hematuria, they call it. WTF NOBODY TOLD ME MY KID WAS GOING TO URINATE BLOOD FOR NO REASON, I call it). They get severe jaundice and get burned on flying kernels of popcorn (seriously, a kernel about to pop hits a temperature of about 400 degrees, which is enough to badly burn a child standing three feet away when said kernel flies out, unpopped, hits the bowl, skids, and soars into the collar of his shirt. Can't make this shit up.) So Friday when the receptionist asked me that I said, "Yes, we're frequent flyers."
See, not only do my kids have a talent for getting ill or injured, they like to do it after 5 pm, preferably on a weekend.
This time I was pretty sure at least one person was going to be patronizing or treat me like I was totally insane, but Big Ez's 103* fever and making-him-scream headache did allow us to skip triage and go right to our own room, so it wasn't until they came in for the is-the-mom-nuts pre-doctor interview that they decided I was crazy.
"Well, he was bitten by a Lone Star tick on Monday, and now, five days later, he has bright red eyes, a 103 fever, stiff joints, and a headache that is making him wail. No other symptoms of anything." Meanwhile, Ez is obligingly crying and looking positively debilitated, asking everyone who comes in, "Are you going to give me a SHOT?!?"
One of the doctors asked me total setup questions, like, "Has he been around anyone showing obvious signs of illness?" No, jackass, I wouldn't have brought him here if he had a childhood special. But in my out-loud voice I just said no, so she follows up with a patronizing smile and says, "So, he hasn't been around any other children at all for weeks? You see, children get sick."
If I had had anything with which to shank her, I likely would have. Not for thinking I was nuts--fine, think I'm nuts--but for being so condescending. Sometimes I want to tell doctors, Look, I read books about DNA construction and plate tectonics and medical history for FUN, okay? I know what a freaking virus is and what an antibiotic does, so stop talking slowly and get on with it. I can follow along.
But I didn't. I just smiled politely and held my sobbing, burning-hot child, and kept repeating myself: "You don't know this child, and he would not be crying like this unless his head hurts horribly."
The woman actually told me, "If he's running a fever, you can give him something before coming here. There's no reason to torture him because it won't change our protocol."
As much as I regretted inconveniencing Dr. Fraser, of course, I wasn't there for fun or because I like "torturing" my kid. (I did feel a little smug, although sorry for Ez, when the administered Tylenol failed to decrease his fever.)
One thing that was clear was that Ez had no interest in whatever their protocol was, and was mortally afraid of getting a shot.
While we sat and he shivered and shook and watched Kung Fu Panda, a smiling blonde woman came in carrying a clipboard and a bag. She sat down and started telling me that she was employed by the hospital in a special capacity, and I thought, my God, they've finally called the crazy police and CPS on me, and it wasn't for the broken leg. I had every expectation that this cheerful woman was there to tell me that they're onto me and I am Munchausen Mom. My mind was spinning: oh, my God, they're going to think that because he's afraid of shots I make him get a lot of shots and now we're here for something vague and at least if they're videotaping us the worst thing I did was check my email on my phone because OH MY GOD THEY THINK I'M MUNCHAUSEN MOM.
So you can imagine my relief when she identified herself as being there to help kids who are obviously scared of doctors. She talked to Big Ez about his blood test and how it was going to go down, and brought a find-the-pictures book to distract him. That was the theory, at least, until the actual blood test occurred, which entailed a lot of screeching and wailing and hiding under a sheet and me, the nurse, a blood tech, and the nice lady with the book--and the promise of a popsicle, which he took grudgingly, like he was doing US a favor.
One of the peds who visited us did NOT think I was nuts, and actually told me that she'd have done the same thing. I explained that had he gotten this fever and headache during the day I'd have been happy to take him to his pediatrician, and likely only in light of the tick thing anyway. Otherwise I'd assume Childhood Special and operate business as usual.
What it all boils down to is that the boy is now being treated for ehrlichiosis, a tick-borne illness that when treated promptly--as in, during the period when people will think you are either an overprotective parasite-fearer or Munchausen Mom--is pretty harmless, but if left for even a short period can cause freaking organ failure.
Smug Doctor's son is going next week to the same horse camp where Ez picked up his little parasite friend this week. I bet you $20 that despite her superciliousness, her kid is going to be emitting a cloud of DEET so thick that he needs a gas mask. And THEN who is the overprotective mom, eh?