First off, the reason that they're haven't been any blogs posted from me in a while: blogspot hates me. It's as simple as that. Truly. It has nothing to do with the strange fact that my son is humming the JAWS theme (though he's never seen the movie) in his room as I try to focus and type. It has nothing to do with me going crazy at all, no it doesn't and I don't like your implications. Blogspot simply hates me. I type out a great blog, I go to hit publish, the whole thing freezes up and then the computer starts giggling this insane giggle that only Stephen King could dream up, and it gets up and runs away. And, I'm left sitting there all innocent without a blog post anymore. So, there. Now you know. I blog now at great risk to my own health and warfare (no, not a typo). You're welcome. I love you.
So, do you remember Shannon's 5 Year Doctor check up visit? No? Why not? I kinda do! Ok, I'll forgive you. You can click on that snazzy link and it'll take you to the blog post about it.
Tristan had his 5 Year Doctor check up visit yesterday. Here is how my day went:
Wake up and decide this isn't one of my days. And, since I have nowhere to be, I'm allowed to have a lazy bummy day, so I don't take a shower.
Remember at 11am that we have an appt at noon. Tristan, who has been congested for a few days (thank you Allergy Gods) has been given cough/cold syrup.
Remember that 2 years ago, at Shannon's 5 year check up, he barfed EVERYWHERE. Try not to mention that memory to the kids.
Put on a nicer shirt and attempt to do something with my hair. Ok - so here's a fun tidbit for you: a lot of people think that having dreads means you completely neglect your hair. Like you forget it's there all together. This couldn't be further from the truth, at least for me. And, if you haven't been to take your kids to the doctor's lately, you are missing out on the well-known, absolute fact that you MUST look presentable because, no matter how sick your child is or isn't, they WILL judge you. It's a bunch of women ... DUH!
My dreads and I argue some, but they finally agree to go up in some form of a bun. The Hokie colored ones though decide they're going to really stand out in weird ways today. Fine. Just fine.
Get kids into the car. Attempt to get self into the car. Thanks to a long upper-body and short arms, I only have 3 fingers' width of room between the top of my head and the top of the car when my hair is down. If my hair is up, I wind up driving all GANGSTA style, slung off to the side trying to fit in the car. -- How in the world did women with beehives EVER drive anywhere???? I need a carriage and someone to drive me around.
Get there early, wait till ...shortly after 12 to be seen - go figure.
They do urine sample & finger prick blood test first. Tristan is fine. He doesn't get upset till he feels (I'm guessing) that first heartbeat in his finger. (You know what I'm talking about) - At that point he has an upset, eyes welling "uh-oh" reaction.
Nurse calls us back into the room so we don't have to wait. She takes Tristan off to do the eye & hearing exam.
She returns with Tristan who is COVERED in vomit. I mean, it was even on the back of his pants. Since I didn't see it happen, all I can imagine is the Excorsist. Nurse seems stunned and unsure of what to do. She hands me a gown and I work on stripping him down.
Meantime, I call my mother to please run by my house, grab him a change of clothes and GET HERE NOW!
He announces he needs to go to the bathroom. While on toilet he starts puking again, then it shoots out the other end. (Sorry - TMI, I know). I try to clean up as best I can.
Get him cleaned up, washed off, and etc. Get gown back on. He is clammy and his face is literally green.
Nurse keeps trying to say he has a stomach bug. I keep trying to tell her that his older brother had a very similar reaction and that their father doesn't do very well at the sight of blood either.
I remind Beazley of Justin's fainting spell during a very similar check-up when I get the chance.
Mom arrives. All seems ok. Then Shannon announces HE has to go to the bathroom, and it's obvious HE is starting to cry.
Beazley looks at me, wide-eyed, in a "WTH?" wonder.
I go to the bathroom with Shannon. Have to get him to admit to being upset and crying. He says that he doesn't like getting shots. I remind him that HE isn't getting any shots today. He says he doesn't like Tristan getting shots. I leave him to finish.
While he's still in the bathroom we agree that my mother will go ahead and leave, taking Shannon with her. This is good because by the time Shannon gets back he pretty much hollers that he wants to leave NOW. - they leave.
Now there is the usual examination part. I win the "WORST MOTHER EVER" award for not only all that has happened but also because Tristan is wearing underwear that is oddly stained all over (of course, right?), and socks that aren't of equal shades of whiteness - one is bright white the other is slightly pink.
Tristan gets his 3 shots. At doctor's "orders" we lay him down for it and keep him down. Obviously, he cries about the shots *mega duh*
After a good long while I'm able to get him dressed. He keeps trying to kinda hyperventilate.
Tristan has been known to, when he's VERY upset, quit breathing kinda, go blue, and pass out. So ... this is my current fear.
We walk out to the car, I think the rain and cool air will do him good but he seems to be getting weaker. I finally wind up carrying him to the car.
I get him in the car. I attempt to get myself into the car. Remember what I said above about the dreads. It's like a friggin' cartoon episode, me trying to get into the car with my big hair and little arms. And it's raining.
We're driving down Main St., towards my mother's house, in the rain, and I glance to the back seat. Tristan is slumped over. I try to not go into full panic mode.
Turns out he was just asleep. Get all of us home. Everyone goes down for naps. I have two stories due. Two I, of course, hadn't written yet. I send my editor a letter asking just how late I can get them in. My nerves are shot.
Who the hell hid my valium today?
Why is my hair so big?
How is it fair that they inherit this reaction from Justin but I end up being the one to get to deal with puke and nurses who seem to be amazed that kids may puke at the doctors' office and capable of offering little other than a gown, a trash bag (at my request, they didn't think of that on their own) for his puke covered clothes, and then they run around spraying things with Febreeze???
Tristan sleeps for a while, or at least rests for a long while. This is good. No more vomiting, no passing out.
I get my articles written.
I find my valium.
I forget about my big hair since the ceilings here are even taller.
I make a good healthy, nourishing dinner. Tristan has a fit because he'd rather have a sandwich. We convince him to break up pretzels in the soup/pasta dinner. No (adult) tempers are lost.
I debate having one more kid just to make sure that Justin has to take said prospective kid to their 5 year check up.
Of course, Murphy's Law, that prospective kid would be fine.
I hate that prospective kid. Damn him/her.
I make Justin stay on bulldog butt wiping duty. This doesn't make me feel much better, but it's better than nothing.
The one bulldog who wasn't given gas-x pills proceeds to sit there, butt near my face, and fart all night.
Damn Murphy's Law.
Later I ponder if I can squeeze the bulldogs and make them fart in Justin's face. It would make a nice weapon and I feel like he deserves some suffering.
Cartoon-esque revenge theories are being hatched in my mind. I also kinda want to bitch-slap the nurses. Or at least do a SNL "REALLY?!?!?" clip about them. I mean, REALLY!?!?!?!, you're shocked and unprepared when kids vomit at the doctor's office?!!?!? REALLY!?!?!??! Who could ever imagine and forsee such events!!! REALLY!?!?!?
So .... now you know why we try to avoid trips to the doctor's office as much as try to avoid ... umm .. the plague?