They Don't Call It Practice For Nothing

We have taken Sophie to the same pediatrician since she was born. Her doctor was affiliated with a very large, very well respected local medical entity (hint: it rhymes with Sean's Bobbkins) and at first that was very appealing to us. We liked the security of having a doctor attached to an organization with a century long reputation for medical excellence, not to mention the world of specialists at our fingertips.

But I would be lying if I said that I was delighted with our experiences, really from the very beginning. There was the time they sent us to the emergency room, where we sat for four hours with a mildly sick two month old only to be told we were overreacting to a normal condition. There were the layers we had to go through to actually speak to a medical professional on the phone. There was the complete lack of personal engagement. We were a number. Sophie's doctor never remembered her from one visit to the next. Ultimately, I just never felt a chemistry with her. We tried other doctors in the practice but didn't feel any better about them.

Meanwhile, Neil and I have been going to a family practice for a couple of years now and we have loved our experiences there. It was our plan to take Sophie there as soon as she completed the two year study that she was a part of through her old doctor. I had scheduled a well child check up, but unfortunately illness struck first. So her first visit was a couple of weeks ago when we had a chicken pox scare. It turns out it was some other chicken pox-y rash that had us on lockdown for a week, and it completely sucked, but it gave us an intro to the pediatric side of our now truly family practice. I was overwhelmed by what a positive experience it was.

The doctor was engaging and friendly. He sat and talked with us. More importantly, he listened. We had a real conversation. I didn't feel as though he was just playing the role of concerned doctor like I typically did with the last one. It was so refreshing. So when we brought her back in for a follow-up/well child, I was nervous that we would be seeing one of the other doctors in the practice. But if it is possible, I love her even more. I felt a real connection from the minute she walked in to the exam room. She's not much older than me, and unlike our last pediatrician, she has her own children. It even turns out that we had similar pregnancies and deliveries. When I expressed my concerns about the flu vaccine, she was very understanding. Our last pediatrician practically accused me of child abuse for not wanting to vaccinate my daughter. And not once did she refer to the growth chart! Sweet baby cheese, was that a breath of fresh air on a hot day.

I knew that I didn't like Sophie's old doctor, but I didn't realize how bad it was until I saw how good it could be. I think we forget sometimes that there is more to medicine than fancy diplomas and big names on the door. I'll take the small practice where the nurses play with my daughter and give her a lollipop any day of the week.

Nope

I'm not going to talk about Sophie's 18 month appointment on Friday. I'm not going to talk about how there are some concerns about her hearing and that we have an appointment in a couple of weeks with an Audiologist to check it out. I'm not going to talk about how frustrated I get by pediatricians who use charts and statistics rather than getting to know their patients. I'm not going to talk about how helpless I feel, how I always feel like I'm giving the wrong answers. I'm not going to talk about the absolute MELTDOWN my daughter had when any of the nurses, doctor or the researcher for the study we're participating in tried to touch her. I'm not going to talk about the computer my daughter somehow pulled out of it's anchoring on the wall in the exam room.

I'm not going to talk about any of that unpleasant stuff, because the weather we've had the last few days has been too beautiful to be down or negative.

Instead let's just focus on the good quality play time we had outside and my beautiful little darling waving at her daddy while he mowed the yard.

Poor Baby

On Sunday, Neil's parents were kind enough to come over and watch Sophie so we could have an afternoon date to go see The Watchmen. We had planned to go out after the movie for dinner, but when we called home to check in on the bean, the report was not good. So home we came. It would have been the first time just Neil and I had been out to dinner since Sophie was born. Sigh. Someday.

I'm not a rush to the doctor type, but a fever, diarrhea, and not eating gets me worried. So Monday morning I called the doctor and scheduled an appointment to take her in for a visit.

An hour later we're sitting in the waiting room. An hour later we're still sitting in the waiting room. An hour later we're finally in the exam room. Waiting. Finally the doctor comes in, does about three minutes worth of examination and says she doesn't know what the problem is. So she sends us down to Radiology to get a chest x-ray to rule out pneumonia. Word to the wise: if you have to take your toddler in for a chest x-ray, make sure you have two people there to hold them down. Oh, and bring ear plugs. Not fun.

After four hours at the doctor, 3 hours and 45 minutes of which were spent in waiting rooms, all the results came back negative. We don't know what she has, but she is still sick. Meaning I can't go to the gym, which surprise, surprise, actually bothers me. But more importantly I still have a sick baby and no idea what to do about it.

So we're not having much fun around these parts. Unless you count changing diapers three times as often and holding an almost constantly fussy baby while pleading with her to please, please eat as fun.

On the bright side, she is being a cuddle fiend and we spent all day yesterday laying in bed watching TV. At least this sick stuff has a few perks.

Friday Top Ten: Why I Hate Going To The Lady Doctor

I had my annual exam today. I should start this by saying that I actually love my Ob/Gyn. I've been going to him for 8 years. He's been super supportive through some rough patches and a great encouragement in the good years, including the birth of my daughter. He has been nothing less than an excellent physician. He tells me I'm pretty and pinches my cheek, and not in a pervy way. Despite this, going for my annual visit is just not fun. No matter how nice the doctor, how gentle his touch, it feels like an invasion and it doesn't really get any easier the older I get. But beyond that, there are a few things that drive me a little nutso.

1. Waiting - First in the waiting room and then in the exam room. I know it is impossible for them to keep exactly, to the minute, on schedule, and maybe if I were waiting for, say, a massage, or cake, I would be less on edge, but the minutes just drag by.

2. The Paper Gown - First off, I always rip it when I am putting it on, so it's more like I'm wearing two shoulder covers, and secondly, could the thing be more scratchety? I'm betting these wonders are not super cheap, so why can't they be made out of the same material as fancy paper napkins? That, I would be happy to wear.

3. The Vaginas and Uteri - They're everywhere. Pictures on the walls, plastic models on the tables and counters. I suppose they're used for explanatory purposes, but I could do with seeing a little less of my insides.

4. Peeing in the Cup - No matter how much I've drunk in preparation, I always get stagefright. My bladder, that lets go when I even think about sneezing, gives me the big thumbs down and I wind up hovering and worrying that I won't be able to produce the needed 1 to 2 ounces. Then when it finally does get going, my aim leaves a LOT to be desired. I understand a woman's anatomy (thanks to all of the diagrams) and I still don't know where the pee actually comes out.

5. The Magazines - I don't go to the doctor to read O and Harper's Bazaar. I want the guilty pleasure stuff I won't buy for myself: People, Us Weekly, heck, I'll even take a Reader's Digest. I mean who doesn't love Humor in Uniform?

6. Getting Weighed - Why, oh why, do we have to go through this torturous ritual. I swear the nurse puts her foot on the scale behind me. That's my story and I'm sticking to it.

7. Stinky Feet - I always worry that my feet will smell. That my doctor will be doing his business, just inches from my piggies, and he will be overcome by the stench. He will then put a black mark in my file and I will be blacklisted from Gynos everywhere, a la Elaine on Seinfeld.

8. The Surly Phlebotomist - I'm not sure if it's just the ladies I have encountered or if the somewhat gruesome nature of the job gets to people after a while, but the bloodletters always seem so cranky.

9. Pharmaceutical Company Free Gifts: The card holder sponsored by Vagimel (wasn't he a character on the Smurfs) or the calendar by Hysterigard. Seriously, who comes up with these names?

10. The Aftergoo. How can I put this delicately? Doctor requires lubrication. Lubricating material doesn't disappear after its purpose is completed. Is that non-graphic enough for you guys? All I can say is, yuck.

What's your least favorite thing about going to the doctor? (Lula, you don't count because you have the perfect doctor!)

Have a great weekend!

Monitor

When Sophie was born, we agreed to be part of a two year study through Johns Hopkins that tracked her growth. Up until now it has been fairly low effort on our part. All we have to do is come in a little early for her regular pediatric appointments and the researchers weigh and measure her. Then I answer a few questions about her dining habits and we're on our way with a $10 gift card to Target in hand. Which, as I was telling a friend, is like that free hit of crack. I get that gift card in my pocket and I start thinking that I should go and spend it. The next thing you know I'm walking out of Target with $100 worth of stuff I didn't need for the bargain price of $90.

This past Friday, Sophie had her 15 month well baby appointment. The good news: she now weighs 18 lbs and 11 oz and is back on the percentile chart, albeit the bottom end, but still. Even though Neil and I were sure that she had gained weight, I had steeled myself against the possibility that her weight gain was still too little. But for naught.

Usually, we have our study appointments before the doctor's visit, but for some reason they switched it up this time. Which meant that by the time we got in to see them, Sophie had just sat, naked, in a sterile room for an hour, followed by two shots. It is an understatement to say that we neither of us were in peak form. Which is why the usually easy measurements went very badly, in fact the research person was not able to get the one that involves attaching little electrodes to her feet and hands and I think measures body fat. I should probably know that for sure. Bad mommy. And then after much crying, wriggling, screaming and general unhappiness, the researcher tells me that Sophie has to wear this little monitor on her ankle for the next four days and that I have to track her activity, on an hourly basis, for that entire time.

I'm about four seconds from telling her what I think of her monitor, when she pulls out the gift card and all is forgiven. Damn you, Target, why can't I resist you?

So we left with my daughter tagged like a housebound felon. The researcher said that most kids forget about it as soon as you get them dressed and this was mostly true. Although she often played with it while I struggled to change her diaper, for the most part she ignored it. And as it turns out, filling out the forms to track her activity wasn't as much of a pain as I thought it would be either.

I took the monitor off today and sent it back to the research group. It wasn't so bad, but glad to be done with it. My girl has been paroled.

Ennui

Sophie: You know, Mumsy*, as much as I enjoy pants-free time, and I really do, standing around naked in a cold, sterile doctor's office is just not my idea of a good time.

*I'm encouraging her to speak with a British accent. Because how cute are kids with British accents!