The relationship with the Pediatrician’s Office goes down in history as one of the most unique. I remember thinking it was so odd when in my first months of pregnancy, I was asked if I had a pediatrician. Now, I completely understand. My Pediatricians Office–the entire staff, have been there since day 1, literally.
They have answered calls about what I view as 100% bizarre behavior that often turns out to be entirely normal. They have witnessed my reactions to the realization that I am responsible for crazy things, like trimming those tiny finger nails. They have watched me console my daughter after a shot, or cajole my son onto the scale. You see, as it turns out, I’m not so good at handling blood and seeing my children uncomfortable or in pain, I would assume most aren’t. The reality is that when we visit the Pediatrician’s Office, one of the above is usually the reason or the result. So, my Pediatrician’s Office sees me at my most vulnerable!
Yesterday, I had to take my daughter to the Pediatrician for a somewhat more serious visit. At a graduation party over the weekend my daughter burnt her little fingers. After bringing her to Urgent Care on Saturday and Sunday, we went to our Pediatrician’s Office on Monday. The staff couldn’t have been nicer to my daughter and me.
When I unwrapped her bandages awaiting the Doctor to take a look, I noticed that her middle finger wasn’t doing so good.The skin above her knuckle was coming completely off up to her finger nail. Immediately, my stomach turned and I had to look away. When the Doctor came in and took a look he broke the bad news.
He was going to have to clean up her middle finger and remove the skin, something we both knew would cause excruciating pain and A LOT of yelling. For the umpteenth time as a mom I took the position I had never envisioned when I pictured having kids. I held my daughter tightly on my lap so that the Doctor could clean her up. I braced her, and myself, for the pain she was about to endure, and tried my best to console her as the Doctor removed her skin and applied antiseptic to her open wound.
I could barely look at her finger without my stomach turning. While he bandaged her up and she continued to scream the Doctor broke more bad news. I would be responsible for changing her bandages the next day and continuing to do so until she healed. Come again…
I can’t recall what my reaction was exactly, but I made the Doctor laugh, so it must have been a doosy. There is nothing quite like the relationship I have with the Pediatrician’s Office. Thank goodness that my daughter will be fine and that I will continue to have my Pediatrician’s Office to help me through the medical adventures that having kids brings!