Domestic Psychology

You say treasure. I say trash.

// October 10th, 2010 // No Comments » // children, medical

“Evan? Where did you get that purple rubber glove?”
“I found it.”
“Where did you find it?”
“In Ms. B’s yard.”
“The yard where the paramedics were? Please throw that in the trash.”
“Noooo. It’s my superhero glove.”
“I will get you a new glove. That one has to be thrown in the trash.”
“… grumble, mumble, complain …”

Dear Rural Metro,
Please do a better post-incident equipment inventory. It would be really helpful if your medical waste wasn’t scattered in the yards where children play.
Thanks,
Evan’s Mom

Boy doctors

// August 28th, 2010 // 3 Comments » // medical, parenting

Many years ago, I took my oldest daughter for her yearly checkup at the pediatrician. Harmless questions about diet, exercise and television were followed by a question about puberty. In response to the answer, the pediatrician glibly told my pre-adolescent daughter that “periods are nasty, messy things.” I spent the rest of the appointment mentally asking myself why a doctor would plant such a terrible seed in my child’s brain. I am not a ‘gather the women for a ceremony under the full moon’ kind of mom, but the comment was so hale pe’a that I found it completely inappropriate.

Last week, I took my youngest daughter to the pediatrician for her checkup. After the doctor looked in Amy’s eyes with his tiny flashlight and she was putting her glasses on again, the doctor announced that if we get my 8-y-o daughter contacts, her father will be chasing the boys away in droves. I was instantly transported back in time and recognized that this was the same doctor who spoke so insensitively to my oldest daughter. This time, he was worried about a very young child’s love life. Not only is she much too young for this to be a concern, her first innocent crushes had better be on her amazing personality and not her physical appearance. An appearance that is adorable with tiny, little, purple glasses.

While Don Draper might love this particular pediatrician, I do not. I will be requesting anyone EXCEPT him at all future appointments.

like a slow motion train wreck

// July 19th, 2009 // 6 Comments » // health, medical, scouts

Late Thursday night, we got a phone call from *camp that two boys in Noah’s troop were sick and H1N1 was suspected. After a sleepless night, we got another phone call saying that the two sick scouts didn’t have H1N1′s trademark high fever and life returned to our version of normal. Saturday, the phone call report was that multiple scouts in our troop AND the camp were sick and one of our scouts was hospitalized. <- insert mom panic here ->

We called the pede before the boys arrived home from camp. Our pede won’t prescribe TamiFlu for the children until one of them gets sick. We sent all the siblings to the grandparents and began the wait for a symptom that would send us to the ER for TamiFlu. I called again the next day when Noah’s temp rose to 99.6 and he started refusing food and complaining of sleepiness. The on-call nurse went out of her way to be rude and insulting to me while telling me there was no reason to go to the ER before the temp is 105. I tweeted a nasty word in frustration. Six people from our troop have been diagnosed so far. In the mean time, every scout who came home exposed every person they saw. The parents in our son’s troop work for Knox County Schools, ORNL, UTK, the U.S. military and more. There is no way to list all the places that our scouts and their families have been in Knoxville since they were first exposed. It is way beyond containable now. Worse than that, one boy is STILL in the hospital. I wonder if the stress knot in my belly will keep me from getting sick enough to need medical care? One major illness without insurance will be one too many for us to bear. I would really like to say c’est la vie, but I think that’s impossible without modern pharmaceuticals. Or ice cream.

*Read the comments on the camp’s blog and see that no matter what they do, they are made the bad guys. Keep the boys at camp? Parents upset. Send the boys home? Parents upset.

one of THOSE days

// May 29th, 2009 // 1 Comment » // aspergers, home, humor, kid quotes, medical, parenting, preschoolers, teenagers

Me: “Tommy, do you want to spend the rest of your life just playing WoW in our basement?”
Tommy: “I don’t think you want to know my answer.”

Sarah: “I have NOTHING to wear. I HAVE to have new clothes.”

Noah: “Umm, yeah, I didn’t tell you, but, I, umm, lost a part of my snare drum that you rented.”

Amy: “Where’s the gum I was saving?”
Me: “Where did you leave it?”
Amy: “It was right there. Where Molly is napping.”

Evan: CRASH! “Ow. Ow. Ow.”
Me: pulling the shelf off of him “Where does it hurt?”
Evan: “Everywhere.”
Two hours and one trip to Children’s ER later, we have been reassured that he will be fine. They decided against stitches on his cheek.

I can hardly wait for tomorrow.

is it done yet?

// December 2nd, 2008 // 1 Comment » // holidays, life, medical, parenting

“Evan needs to go potty. Quick!”
Doug scooped up a naked 3-year-old and carried him to the bathroom.
CRUNCH
“Ow!”
“Don’t move!”
Doug raced from the bathroom to find me with a Christmas tree light embedded in my heel.
Amy and Noah appeared in the broken glass zone to watch the blood drip from my foot.
“Amy and Noah get back until the glass is cleaned. Cathy, sit down and quit picking at it.”
Doug wiped up the broken glass and began picking glass from my foot as a naked 3-year-old ran around the living room.
“Kwis-mas Twee! Kwis-mas Twee! Kwis-mas Twee!”
Noah stumbled to the bathroom with his hand under his nose, blood pouring from his nostril.
“Noah’s nose is bleeding! Ewww.”
“Pinch the bridge Noah.”
“This band-aid is too small for your foot.”
“It’s just until it quits bleeding. It’s fine.”
“Is the tree done yet?”

and the 3-y-o beat up the 6-y-o

// October 28th, 2008 // 2 Comments » // local, medical, parenting

With 5 children, we are very lucky we don’t spend more time at doctors and hospitals. The children sensed that we were overdue for an ER visit and set out to remedy the situation. I knew it would be Amy or Evan who had the next big boo-boo. Watching the two of them interact is like watching a see-saw. They’re sharing, they’re fighting. They’re shoving, they’re hugging. They’re happy, they’re sad. Back and forth they go, all the day long. Saturday night, Doug and I were out searching for Fancy Nancy hair when the phone rang. The story on the phone was confusing, but we understood the message that Amy had hit her head and was going to Children’s Hospital. Several more phone calls during the drive explained that Amy was somewhere between sitting and standing in a chair in her grandmother’s kitchen. Evan deliberately pulled the chair over or accidentally knocked it over and Amy’s head clonked on the floor. Hard. With a basic grasp of the scenario, we reached the hospital area and were immediately reminded that UT had a home game playing. Roads were blocked and parking lots were full. The normally $1 an hour lot was now a flat $20. Doug circled the emergency room lot until someone left while I went inside. I understand that the businesses in that area need football crowds to survive, but something is wrong when the emergency room parking lot is filled with football traffic.

It doesn’t matter the day, time or crowd in the Children’s Hospital ER, I always get triaged instantly and wait minimally before going back to see a nurse. The nurses and doctors know exactly how to communicate with small people and calm parents (and distraught grandmothers). The only consequence of Amy’s fall was an actual egg sized lump on the back of her head and a hospital bracelet as a badge of courage. All we had to do was wait for discharge, so we waited. and waited. and waited some more. I think there must be exactly one employee per hospital who does discharges and that person spends their entire shift racing from floor to floor trying to process everyone out. It seems to hold true at every hospital I have ever been in. You put the first real clothes on your new baby and change their diaper every five minutes in an attempt to make it out of the hospital before mustard or tar has stained that first outfit. Still, given a choice between slow admission and slow discharge, I’ll take slow discharge. Now I just need to make Amy and Evan wear helmets and football pads when they are in the same room.

Dear Knoxville therapist,

// October 28th, 2008 // 12 Comments » // aspergers, local, medical

You have a special talent for connecting with Aspie children. Even though we no longer see you, I recommend you to the half a dozen newly diagnosed families who call me every month. Well, I used to recommend you. I will no longer do so. I stupidly ignored when you would talk to me about other patients. I shouldn’t have. Now I hear that you are talking about my child. More than talking about him, you are telling other families that my child is one of your only two failures. You are entitled to your incorrect opinion of the level of my son’s success, but I am furious that you are talking bad about my son to other people. That is unprofessional and if it continues, I will file a complaint with the state. Stop talking about my son. Now.

Why did Sarah have blood on her face?

// September 12th, 2008 // 3 Comments » // life, medical

Even though NOBODY asked, I’m going to explain why Sarah had blood on her face and shirt after Color Guard practice a few weeks ago. Why? Because in ten years, the story will either be forgotten or blown completely out of proportion. For the record, the Color Guard was outside practicing. She didn’t see it coming, but a bug flew up Sarah’s nostril. Not a happy little Aborigine bug that cleans and flies away, but a mean and crabby little bug that chomped down hard as soon as it realized it wasn’t in a good place. Sarah screamed, pinched the bug-free nostril closed and blew that nasty critter out. She was laughing so hard that she didn’t realize blood was pouring out of her nose until it was everywhere. Her face cleaned up no worse for the wear and that should be the end of the story. But . . . when you least expect it . . . CHOMP! It’s a nostril bug! Oh, sorry. It’s late on a Friday night and that’s the time to tell ghost stories isn’t it? Bugs, ghosts, same amount of evilness.

I told you it was one of those freaky things that only happen to our family.

like a hamster on a wheel

// July 18th, 2008 // 3 Comments » // life, medical, parenting, school

Me: “I need to schedule my son’s checkup and he will also need rabies pre-exposure shots.”
Receptionist: “Has your son been bitten?”
Me: “No. This is a school requirement for students who will be handling animals.”
Receptionist: “Well, you can explain it to the doctor when you come in for your check-up.”
Me: “But, this is something the doctor is going to have to special order in for the appointment.”
Receptionist: “You can explain it to the doctor when you come in for your check-up.”
Me: “Can you just leave a note saying what I am requesting?”
Receptionist: “You can explain it to the doctor when you come in for your check-up.”
Me: sigh

Me: “I haven’t gotten my son’s financial aid report or any kind of status report.”
Financial Aid Person: “What is his name and date of birth and social security number?”
Me: quickly spout out the requested information
Financial Aid Person: “He is in the system.”
Me: “Can you tell me if there is a problem is so that I can try to fix it.”
Financial Aid Person: “Not without your son’s written authorization.”
Me: “How can we do that?”
Financial Aid Person: “I will mail him a form.”
Me: sigh

Me: “My son needs rabies pre-exposure shots.”
Nurse T: “Has your son been bitten?”
Me: “No. This is a school requirement for students who will be handling animals.”
Nurse T: “Well, you can explain it to the doctor.”
Me: “My son needs rabies pre-exposure shots.”
Dr. B: “Has your son been bitten?”
Me: “No. This is a school requirement for students who will be handling animals.”
Dr. B: “We don’t have anything like that here. I will write you a prescription.”
Me: sigh

Me: “I have a script that the doctor wrote for rabies pre-exposure shots.”
Pharmacist: “Ummm, I’ll have to look that up. Come back in 45 minutes.”
Me: sigh
The next 45 minutes are spent chasing Evan in the toy aisles.
Me: “I’m here to be told that you can’t fill my son’s script.”
Pharmacist: “Ummm, I don’t know how to fill this script. Maybe you should take it to a veterinarian. Or the CDC.”
Me: sigh

good cop / bad cop

// April 21st, 2008 // No Comments » // medical

Nurse T: “I can tell you don’t smoke by looking at your skin. Non-smokers look younger than smokers. You have non-smoker skin.”

Doctor B: “You are SO pale. Cancer likes fair skin and you are REALLY fair. Avoid the sun.”

Can I just see Nurse T from now on? I think I like her better.