As you may have gathered by my previous posts, I’m a type-A personality. I’m also one of those people that’s a pleaser. I don’t like to inconvenience people and prefer to make things easier for them. I can’t help it. I’m actually a horrible spa client as I spend most of the time trying to contort my body into the exact position I think the therapist or esthetician might need. I mean, I drive manicurists crazy with my stiff knuckles. Seriously, I’ve been scolded by massage therapists constantly “Can you please relax your arm?”
Its the same with doctors. I hate to inconvenience an already busy doctor’s office or emergency room with our little case. I carry that deference to the medical profession that my parents generation had when the doc was always right. But little by little I’m starting to feel a change as my Type-A is beating out my Aim to Please gene.
This change probably started with pregnancy. All of a sudden it wasn’t just my own health I was worrying about, it was the Shorties. The Mama Bear instinct takes over and all of a sudden the infallible Doc that’s only half concentrating on the issue is in my sights. The health and safety of the Shorties trumps everything else.
Poor Shorty #1 has had a couple of strange allergic reactions, so we were packed off to see an Allergist yesterday. Luckily, I read the reviews for the doctor and was somewhat prepared for a potentially confrontational visit. #1 is TERRIFIED of needles. I mean, she is apoplectic when she sees them. Anyone who has visited an allergist will sympathize then with the pin-cushion like experience that can happen when being tested for allergies. She was beside herself when she realized what was about to take place.
The “nurse” was no help. She tried to mitigate the fear by explaining to Shorty that there would only be 5 pokes. I finally convinced her that this was a must-do and there was definitely a treat waiting on the finish line. She sat her 4 foot plus frame on my lap and the nurse started the pokes up each arm. As she attempted the 6th, Shorty who was carefully counting flipped out. She very nearly kicked the nurse in the chin. I thought of apologizing to this total b%^&# but decided not to. We both sold #1 on 5 needles and she was changing the plan on the fly. I decided that this was now her problem and suggested maybe next time she should give kids a little more credit and tell the truth.
Now enter the Doctor. With piles of diplomas and certificates lining the walls heralding his status as a pediatrician and allergist, he came in with an abysmal bedside manner. Poor Shorty was now itching like mad, allergic reactions abounding from the test. He gruffly came and grabbed her hand. When she flinched, he admonished her telling her to “calm down”. Excellent. Now I was ready to kick HIM in the chin. Seriously, why doesn’t he get it? He must do this all day, every day.
When he told me that Shorty’s reaction to tree nuts was anaphylactic, I was shocked. I said “really?”. His condesendingly replied “Well yes! can’t you see the reaction. It was 10 blah blahs in a dilution of blah blah blah blah.” DUDE, you just told me that if my kid eats a cashew she could possibly DIE. Can you have a heart for two seconds and stop being a f%^&ing scientist?
Now here’s where I pupped out and didn’t actually say this to Dr. Dickhead. But next time I may not be so civilized and nod and acquiesce and be too afraid to ask questions. Next time I’ll stand up to that self-righteous ass and ask him to treat me AND Shorty with the respect we deserve as human beings who have come to him for some help. I hope you will too.