Well Checks

I really couldn't skip it this year.  It would be irresponsible, I suppose.

Well checks.

You know the ones.  You take your kids in to see the doctor just to make sure everything's normal and they're growing in all the ways they should be.  

Don't tell their doctor how many years of this I've kind of skipped.  Oops.

In the last three weeks, I've taken all three girls and even our new puppy for their well checks.

I was handed some forms to fill out with lots of questions about the girls' development, health history, and a chance to express any concerns I had for the doctor.  

Right off the bat I was met with a quandary.  

How honest should I really be?  

Look at this list!

I was supposed to circle any symptoms I was currently seeing in them or wanted to discuss with the doctor.

I'm sorry, but if these are actual symptoms, then every child in the entire universe is very sick.




Hearing loss?  I thought about that one.  I give the "please answer me the first time you hear me call you" speech at least eight times a day but they don't seem to hear it until the seventh time through.

Vision changes?  Should I mention the fact that they simply cannot see the toys and shoes I've thoughtfully placed in the middle of the stairs for them to carry up the next time they go to their rooms? Or the fact that they have pantry and refrigerator blindness and can rarely find what they're looking for until I come over and retrieve the item for them?

Um...I have a four-year-old and a seven-year-old here.  Do I really need to say more?  I was suddenly a little worried that this was actually a form for MOM.  I began to feel a little warm.  My youngest little patient walked over to proudly display show me how a toy worked which she had found in the children's area of the waiting room. She kept pressing the button as fast as she could, making a very loud and grating sound float throughout the otherwise subdued room.  People around began non-verbally communicating their feelings about this.

I wondered which behavioral symptoms they were now checking on their own health forms.

Our names were called and we filed back through the hallways and corridors to the exam room.

I always feel a bit like the traveling circus as we parade down the long hallway, passing several doctors who work in the practice and all the nurses scattered here and there.

To make a long story short, both my younger girls needed to do a urine test.  They were completely enthralled by this idea.  You do WHAT?!  The four-year-old especially had eyes the size of saucers and a huge grin on her face at the thought of what she was going to actually have permission to do.

Mothers, if you have never experienced the adventure of helping your children with a urine test, let me tell you, it is something to behold.

The little one completed the task with no problem, smiling the entire time.  I think she was still in disbelief at her good fortune of getting to do this in the first place.

The problem came when it was time for the other one's turn.

You need to understand something about this kid:

She has THE weakest stomach in the universe.  I kid you not.  This is the child who threw up when our dog, Hank, had an accident in the house.  This is the child who used to gag over her OWN dirty diapers.

Last week she began gagging in the van.  I recognized that sound and frantically looked for a place to screech to a halt and get her out of the vehicle.

Too late.  The kid threw up everywhere.

Why, you ask?

Our carpool buddy had a runny nose.

Seriously.  A little sniffle sent her over the edge.  I spent the next hour cleaning up the consequences of a weak stomach.

Anyway,  dejavu was about to happen to me.  Here we were, locked in the small bathroom in the doctor's office, and I begin hearing that same ominous gagging sound.


I couldn't open the door and get her out of there because my other child would be completely humiliated and never forgive me.  I couldn't put Leighanne near the commode because it was occupied and I was trying desperately to save the stuff for the test, so I also couldn't just flush and rush my daughter out of the way.

You see my dilemma.  I'm sure outside the door the nurses and techs were listening to the gagging sounds and me yelling, "Hang on!  Just a second!" and the non-gagging child snickering.

Just in the very nick of time, the commode was available for use (I shall try to be delicate here).  I worked in hyperdrive to do the necessary steps to preserve a specimen for the doctor to test and then practically shoved poor Leighanne's head into the freshly flushed commode.

And yep...she threw up.

And just like that, she was completely fine once more.  I helped her wash her face and hands and we stepped out of the bathroom with our heads held high, trying to act as though nothing out of the ordinary had just occurred.  And to be fair, nothing out of the ordinary HAD occurred.  At least not for our family.  Happens all the time.

I do not see a career in the medical field for this child.  And maybe not any job involving working with human beings in general.

Before we left, I was handed what I like to call "How To" pamphlets.  If only I'd had these all along!  Information on how to take care of a four-year-old and a seven-year-old!  These are gold, people!  Gold!  It's just so simple when it's in print, isn't it?   


Anonymous said…
Why would you publicly post a story like this and humiliate your daughter? What point does describing her challenges serve? I hope you have the good sense to remove this post before she comes across it as a teen, or worse, her peers do and ridicule her for it. I don't understand why some people post such detailed information about their children's struggles. The internet is not your therapist if you simply cannot deal with the "challenges" of being a stay at home mom. You are lucky to be able to afford to stay at home and have the spare time to blog about your piddly concerns. Get some real world perspective on what people that actually struggle go through. If I knew my mother had posted such things making fun of me, I would be angry and horrified.

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