Yesterday I had the pleasant adventure of taking my youngest daughter to the doctor. Since Danika has Down Syndrome, she has about 43 doctors, so I will further specify that I took her to the Endocrinologist. It was found when Danika was in the NICU that she had boarder-line hypothyroidism. This is a common issue among people with DS and can cause people to become over-weight... because people with Down Syndrome need a few extra challenges, right?
There are not very many Endocrinologists out there currently, and I called no less than ALL of the ones in the Dallas/Fort Worth areas to try to find one that both took our insurance AND had an opening before 2009.
After hours on the phone, I succeeded in finding a doctor at Children’s
The big day finally arrived yesterday. My middle child, who is a very precocious four-year-old, was going to have to come too as I can’t afford someone to watch her. (I’m afraid K.C. requires hazard pay to entice would-be babysitters to take such a risk.) I was quite proud I had everyone up, dressed, fed and ready to go out the door by 11:30 AM to get to our 12:45 appointment down-town.
Along the way I decided to stop at a fast-food place to pick up some lunch. I dutifully asked my four-year-old what she would like and was quite surprised when she stated “Nothing! I’m full!”
“But this is MacDonald’s! Are you SURE you don’t want anything?”
“Yes, I’m sure, mommy.”
“OK…”
I placed my order and pulled around to the window to pay.
“I want a chocolate milkshake!” a small voice whined from the back.
Thankfully the lady at the window was able to tack on this last minute health-food item as I paid.
After sitting in stop and go traffic for an hour, we arrived at CMCD (the hospital) only 5 minutes late. Hooray. I pulled into the incorrect parking lot, stopped to stare at the map I’d been sent by the doctor’s clinic, determined that the names of the streets on the map were not actually POSTED anywhere, turned the minivan around, made a U-turn at the next light and made an illegal left turn into the correct parking lot.
Jogging with a Graco Stroller and a whiny four-year-old is not as easy as it looks. It didn’t help that the outside temperature was 94 degrees. Another four degrees and I’d have been jogging through a rock group. After narrowly missing being hit by the Valet in a Hummer, we made it safely into the lobby.
We rode the elevator up to the fourth floor with my four-year-old crying the whole way because I’d forgotten to let her push the floor button. We disembarked from our elevator and found the check-in desk whereupon my four-year-old (henceforth known by her name of K.C.) announced she had to go potty. I checked in at light speed and we made it to the public bathroom just in the nick of time.
After leaving the restroom with wet hands and some soap dribbling down the side of the stroller, we located the doctor’s suite and were handed a mountain of paperwork to fill out. The nurse was already calling us to go back, so I would just have to fill out the paperwork on the run. The cup-holder trays on Graco strollers make for a great mobile desks in a pinch.
Danika was weighed, measured and her blood pressure was taking. I’m happy to announce her blood pressure was FAR better than mine was at that moment. We were then escorted to an exam room and sat down to wait for the doctor.
The doctor opened the door just in time to witness the existential ballet production by K.C. who was sailing across the room superman style atop the doctor’s stool. Pick your battles, moms – it’s this or whining.
The doctor read over Danika’s records, asked two questions and sent us down to the Lab for blood work. I’ll admit I was somewhat let down with this 4 minute visit after all my efforts. We packed up the stroller and made our way back out to the lobby where I handed the desk nurse my sloppily filled out paperwork.
After riding the elevator in which K.C. got to press the floor button, we stepped off back on the ground floor and wandered over to the Lab. In the empty lobby I was handed a paper with the number 27 on it. 27 out of what? We waited amongst the 26 invisible patients until the technician returned from a snack break and called our number.
No veins were readily noticeable in Danika’s plump baby arm, so the nurse chose to stick her finger instead. Had the finger belonged to my four-year-old, the crying would have been heard through the hospital. As it was Danika’s finger, she looked a bit surprised and then sat quietly as her tiny finger was milked for the next 20 minutes. In the mean time, K.C. was checking out all the stickers and pencils on the counter. She decided that Danika wanted the bubbles in the green bottle, and happily liberated those and a few stickers from the large glass jar in which they were neatly contained.
Then back to the car. Opening a car door on a 94 degree day is much like sticking one’s head in the oven. I felt much like the witch from Hansel & Gretel placing each of my beautiful children into the sweltering, metallic vessel and strapping them into their child “safety” seats. How safe will my children be if they are cooked before anyone has a chance to sideswipe us?
Taking a chance, I started the ignition and set the A/C on full blast, then walked back to the stroller and began collapsing it. I could just see the news reports of the car jacking in
When I finally arrived home in the evening, I wondered how it was that one four minute doctor’s appointment could take up so much of my life. I estimate the total time of calling, waiting, driving, traffic, and labs to be about 6 months, 14 days, 6 hours… oh… and four minutes!
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