Brigid Day

So we went to the new doctor on Thursday.  Very, very impressed.  That is, we were very impressed with her.  She must think we are loony.

Maggie was up first.  She had to have her physical, a blood draw and a shot.  She gets pretty nervous before the blood draws.  Her fear is mostly of the fear of having it done, not actually having it done.  But she talked the nurse’s ear off.  And the doctor’s.  And was her normal bouncy self.

I was horrified when the doctor asked me about two large baseball-sized spots on her back.  They looked like bruises and I had no idea how she would have been hurt like that.  My mind raced back to the last time I had seen her back.  I had bathed her the night before, surely I would have noticed something like that.  I had put sunscreen on just that morning for sprinkler day at school.   Hmmm, wait a minute.  That’s exactly where I put the sunscreen.  And kind of resembles the openings of her swimsuit.  I deduced that is was most likely, in fact, dirt.  I did a little incognito spitting into my hand to try to wipe some of it off.  The doctor reached for an alcohol wipe and after one swipe it was clear that it was just dirt.  I don’t need this drama in my life.

Blood draw.  Check.  Shot. Check.  Vision test. Check. Hearing test. FAIL.  What???

Yes, apparently my sweet girl who has been saying she can’t hear very well out of one ear, was not talking loud enough for me to hear THAT SHE CAN’T HEAR OUT OF ONE EAR.  And partially out of the other.  Luckily, it looks like just an earwax buildup – more than once I have declared I have the ear-waxiest children ever.  So we are doing drops, and other gross things to try to alleviate this problem.  

I have to tell you, I think this is an easy fix.  The doctor thinks this is an easy fix. But that doesn’t decrease the mother-guilt by one iota.  How did I not listen to my child?  What if something serious is actually going on and we are joking about it.

When she has drops and cotton in her ears, she really can’t hear jack.  She’ll ask a question, I’ll give an answer, and she’ll look at me puzzled as she repeats a word that kind of sounds a little like something I said, but isn’t what I said at all.  It’s a little scary.

Then at dinner last night Mike said “oh, yeah.  I had to go to the ER one time.  I was a little older than Maggie and I told them I couldn’t hear at all.  Nothing.  They put a water jet in my ear and you should have seen all the stuff that came out.”  So not looking forward to that.  (Though, I would take that over puke, any day.)

Oh, which reminds me – during the physical, the doctor noticed that Maggie’s throat was bright red, so we did another strep culture, which, of course, was positive.  She finished her last antibiotic four days prior, so it’s obviously not working for her.  We started a different one and are six doses into it and her tonsils are still ginormous.

Then we moved on to Nick.  She listened to all of my concerns, the laundry list from his speech therapist, and the input from the gym staff.  She almost fell out of her chair when she asked if his hearing had been tested and I said no.  I think at that moment, my heart began to swell.  When I explained about the ear drum bursting and the fact it had been “looked at” on  Friday, burst over the weekend, and then they had to remove two tons of ear wax in order to “see” it, she concurred it would have been pretty difficult to “see” anything.  I think at that point, I wanted to hold her hand and whisper sweet nothings in her ear.  

So long story, long.  Nicholas passed his hearing test.  She shares my concerns and thinks a neurologist would be the best next step.  Someone who deals with this on a daily basis.  Someone who can say “No, just normal delayed development,” or “Yes, worrisome. Let’s pursue further.”  Now, I know I’m in the trenches here and I can’t always see the big picture, but this idea (while scaring the shit out of me) seems like the wisest thing anyone has said.  I certainly don’t want to go looking for trouble where trouble doesn’t exist.  I will be thrilled if the neurologist says everything is fine.  I love Nick just the way he is.  I don’t want him to be someone he is not.  But if there is something medical going on that could be causing him harm, so help me, I’m going to figure it out.

So we left.  Two hours later.  With about 6 of those minutes spent in the waiting room.  The other 114 with a doctor, a nurse, and a lab tech who all cared.

(Then they called to tell me Maggie’s iron levels are low.  Because apparently when you fall apart, you might as well get everything on the table at once. And I profusely thanked the nurse and apologized for our high-maintenance visit.  She was quick to tell me that though we had a lot going on, we were happy and friendly and they were glad to help.  And I swooned just a little more.)