[Preliminary note: I really really try to keep any issues that might be embarrassing to the girls later on off this blog. However, this post may blur the lines a bit. I'll try to keep it somewhat vague.]
Yesterday I dropped Elaine off at daycare and headed on to work. I'd only be there about an hour and a half when her teacher called. She said that Elaine just wasn't like herself. She was overly sensitive and cried and wanted to be held. She also was holding on to herself and kept saying she had to go peepee and crying some more. Uh-oh. We've been down that road several horrific times with Lucy, so I called the pediatrician right away to see if I could get her in. They gave me an appointment, so I left work to pick up Elaine.
When I got there, she was in the bathroom again and had had an accident in her clothes. I'm supposed to provide a clean set of clothes to keep in her cubby at school, but that's yet another thing I've fallen down on and the only thing available was a pair of winter pants that fit 6-9 months (she's between 2 and 3T now). It now looked like she was wearing fleece knickers or something. We got in the car, and she plucked at them and said, "I don' like dese pants, Mom." I then made the stupid, stupid amateur mistake of telling her I was going to take her to the doctor. Immediately her lip jutted out, and she began to bawl. "I don' want da doctor! I want Daaaaaddddddyyyyyy!" (meaning Daddy would be much nicer to me than this mean mother)
In the meantime, there's no way I'm taking my child to the doctor wearing a ladybug t-shirt w/ pants 4 sizes too small, so we detoured by Vanity Fair, I mean Target, on the way there. She picked out a very cute navy sundress with hot pink hearts, so I slipped that on her in the car. She was happy about that but then continued to inquire, "Where we goin', Mom?" all the way while I said cheerfully, "We're going home to see Daddy!" and mumbling, "After we go to the doctor" under my breath. She fell asleep about five minutes before we got there.
She seemed resigned when we got in. By the way, we have the absolute nicest, kindest, sweetest, friendliest, most patient pediatrician in the world. His name is Dr. Sroka. Elaine hates him. When he came in the room, she deigned to show him her bracelet but then spent the rest of the time hiding her face in the crook of her arm, looking for all the world like a baby bird tucking its head under its wing. We talked about her symptoms, then he tried to examine her, operative word being "tried."
He wasn't sure if she has a bladder infection or some sort of other diaper-area infection so he was going to treat for the latter first. He then asked if I thought I could get her to give a sample in a cup. Why yes, I sure do. About as much chance as I would getting a black ink-shooting octopus into a Sunday dress, lace tights, and Mary Janes. He said unfortunately if I couldn't get that done and the medicines for the other infection didn't work, he'd have to catheterize her. Oy. Just the thought of that ordeal will make me take my chances with wrangling the little octopus first.
He gave me some sterile cups to try with and told me that some parents come in with samples in Tupperware and then want the Tupperware back. He said once someone came in with a sample in a glass jar. He tested it, and it came back with the sugar level in the thousands. He was all set to do further diabetes testing on the poor child when he noticed a little bit of jelly left in the jar. He said, "The kid didn't have diabetes! He had Smuckers!" See? Isn't he nice? Yeah, try telling that to Elaine.
On the way out she bellowed, "I don' like Dr. 'Roka. He look in my ears, and I am SHY!" Then she added darkly, "Dr. 'Roka is the Purple Pieman." The Purple Pieman, if you don't know, is the villain from Strawberry Shortcake. Apparently that was the worst epithet she could think of. On the way home, she ate almost an entire pack of Starburst. (I supply special treats to both girls for surviving doctor visits.)
The poor little girl was just miserable the rest of the day. She cried and fussed and clung to me. I felt so sorry for her. I pumped her full of cranberry juice and changed her diaper about 18 times. Finally as I was layering medicine on her yet again she said softly, "Thank you for my medicine, Mom. Thank you for taking me to the doctor."