A Day With the Doctor


Cold and flu season is in full swing (actually, it has been for a little over a month), so naturally this means our annual trek to the doctor when actually sick inevitably occurs. Because we homeschool, we don’t have quite all the health snafus that other families do; however, it still crops up.

This brings up a whole other set of pet peeves that I have, though. Being a hypochondriac, I naturally have a number of issues with matters of health. But then there is an entire other set of things that just drive me absolutely bonkers when it comes to getting sick.

Pet Peeve #1: When People Hang Around You Ill

Fucktards is what I like to call those people. No offense or anything if you are one of those people that is so inconsiderate that you think it is totally OK to go to a party or to work or to pretty much anywhere ill, but it’s not. I understand people who are given a hard time by their employers, but then it’s the employers that are the fucktards because – for real – sickness spreads when people don’t stay home.

When you or your family is sick, they can get other people sick. And who the fuck are you to get people sick against their will?

Say you go to a party and your kid is sick. Say he has the flu (ahem … that is how we got sick over a month ago at this point …). Say there is a senior citizen at this party that has a compromised immune system and a heart problem. You obviously don’t know that he does, but you also don’t know that he doesn’t. He holds your little bag of disease and then the old guy dies of the complications from the flu two weeks later.

The point is that no one knows what health issues others have but them. Which means as a decent human being, someone sick should stay home. It may not be a big deal to you, but it can always kill someone else.

Pet Peeve #2: Patient Care Is Our #1 Priority

Every time I walk into our doctor’s office, I see this sign that says “patient care is our #1 priority.” It’s a wonder my blood pressure readings always come up low, though, for this is the biggest annoyance to me, probably on the entire planet.

If patient care is your #1 priority, then why is it that four weeks ago I was told to go to the emergency room because you couldn’t fit me in for a week? If patient care is your #1 priority, then why is it that no one ever called me back after I phoned four times? If patient care is your #1 priority, then why did you never call in the prescriptions you told me you were calling in the minute you walked out the door?

I recently read an article that reported a study the CDC recently did, which stated that the majority of doctors in America right now are going to visits, not treatment. What that means is that doctors could care less about treating their patients,  and keeping people healthy. What they care about is getting copays.

Pet Peeve #3: Doctor Time

Have you ever been told that it was going to be five or ten minutes, only for it to wind up to be an hour and a half? That’s what happened to us today. Our appointment was at 12:50. I checked in at 12:30. She told me 5 minutes. At 2:15, we were finally taken in.

There were two other people in the waiting room.

A little known fact by you faithful blog followers is that for six years while in college, I was a full-time pharmacy technician. For 40 hours a week, I schlepped drugs, wrote employee schedules, argued with insurance companies, and handled all the other random crap the pharmacy manager didn’t want to handle.

I never once told a patient it would be 5 minutes.

Nothing makes someone that is tired and sick and feeling awful more frustrated than being lied to. I’m sure that enough people at our doctor’s office have been outraged when told it was going to be 30 or more minutes to make these horrible women lie and say it would be 5 when it was clearly going to take longer. That doesn’t make it OK for them to lie in such an egregious fashion.

I suppose I’m just a little turned off right now because we have all been sick for going on four weeks now. We were sick through Christmas. We were sick through New Years. When I called to get in a few weeks ago, I was told “tough shit.” What kind of a society do we live in where we can’t get ahold of our doctors when we need them? What the fuck is the point of even having a doctor, then?

We are one of two days worth of doctor’s appointments down and I am hoping this is the end for the season. Unless, of course, we picked up any other manner of illnesses from the doctor’s office while waiting to be seen, which raises a whole other set of pet peeves altogether.

Dear Biological Parents,

I don’t blog on this topic very often, mostly because it is far too personal and complicated, and more importantly the thought of some numb nuts commenting in a way that offends me is too much for me to worry about to actually put it out there.

Today is different, though.

Without getting into all the sordid details of my life and those of my little chitlins, I will just say this: for a few years, now, I have been trying to foster some sort of a relationship between my Pookie and her biological father for her own sake, and because he seemed to want to – at the very least – know her. He has not had her in his life much since she was a little baby, and quite frankly this is a good thing. He is very irresponsible, he does not have financial security, and he did not really want to have kids. He lives with his parents, has a wife, and loves his hobbies. I am fine with all of that, really – I am happy to try and facilitate some kind of relationship with her, since he actually indicates he wants to (which is more than I can say for a lot of other people that have been involved in her sweet, little life).

But there comes a time when I have to look at the situation and say exactly what the courts say: is this really in the best interest of the child?

This weekend we let her go to her biological father’s house for a couple of days, at which time she was exposed to cigarette smoke, things they are aware she is allergic to, and fed nothing but crap. When I asked him what she ate because she had an allergic reaction to something that caused her to break out in hives yesterday (upon getting home), he said: spaghetti, cocoa puffs, lucky charms, frozen pizza bites. What a diet, right?

Today I took her to the doctor because hydrocortisone cream and her regular allergy pills didn’t cut it on the hives. The culprit was that it’s apparently a fucking zoo over at their house. Not only does grandma smoke regularly, but they have two cats, two dogs, some wild rat in the back, and a shit-ton of fish. At the very least, she is allergic to the cats. The doctor’s bill, in the end, came to way more than we had budgeted or intended on – of which we will see not one bit from him – and which she admitted was because they let one of their cats bother her repeatedly through the entire visit, despite the fact that she is terribly allergic and they know.

Then this evening, Pookie informed me that they told her over the weekend that her biological father and his wife have decided to have a baby. This boggles my mind in ways you faithful blog followers could never understand. Boggles my fucking mind.

So I’m a little mad. And tipsy, because I allowed myself more than the standard “glass of wine with dinner” tonight. If I were to write a letter to biological parents that aren’t really parents, it would look something like this:

Dear Biological Parents,

Just because you can’t keep your dick in your pants or you spread your legs so wide people think you might be in the circus (with that flexibility and all), does not mean you are a parent. There is much more to being a parent than just creating a zygote. There is much more to being a parent than squeezing that thing through your chachi, or standing by while it all takes place and calling out “I’m a dad!”

If you don’t pay your child support, you are not a parent. If you believe a steady diet of Cocoa Puffs and chocolate chip cookies is adequate, you are not a parent. If you do not know the difference between toxic and non-toxic, clean and unclean, safe and unsafe, you are not a parent.

If you think it’s okay for your kid to have cigarette smoke blown in her face, you are not a parent. If your kid has a very serious allergy and you just blow it off because you are too busy or lazy or tired or stupid to limit their exposure, you are not a parent.

Being a parent is so much more than sticking your dick in some ho and calling it a day. Being a parent is staying up all night because your child had a nightmare and can’t get back to sleep. Being a parent is sacrificing your trip to Sephora for makeup so that your kid can have her allergy medicine. Being a parent is never making a food again that your kid is allergic to, unless they aren’t home. Being a parent is ensuring your child eats healthy and has a fruit or vegetable first every, single fucking goddamned time they have a snack. Being a parent is doing homework with your kid, and sitting with them while they read for a minimum of 15 minutes a day – because you know that’s what they need to succeed in life. Being a parent is sacrificing day fucking in and day fucking out.

Being a parent has nothing to do with your dick or your hoo ha, or a zygote that happens to have the same DNA as you. Being a parent is everything that happens afterwards – from the first time your kid wakes up and says “mommy, I had a nightmare,” to the minute they tell you “momma, he asked me to marry him.”

I am so fucking sick and tired of these worthless scumbags that don’t have the slightest idea of taking responsibility for the actions they choose to make. I’m tired of it in every walk of life, but today I am especially tired of this. Biology has nothing to do with being a parent. All this other shit does. As I slather cream all over my sweetheart’s hives, sit up with her all night because she is upset about feeling sick, and then wake up tomorrow to no make up because I had to spend all my make up money on this unintended visit to the doctor.

I sometimes wonder why  some people don’t take on their responsibilities as parents, though. Because despite how upset I am about it now, and how much I complain, it’s so worth it.