Friday, October 26, 2012

The One With An Explosion

Yesterday was our follow-up appointment at Little Man's clinic.  Of course, I'd made this appointment three months ago, and so was completely surprised totally prepared when I got the automated reminder call the night before.  We were to discuss the changes we've seen since I started him on melatonin... um... three months ago.


Yeah we still haven't started him on melatonin.  A multitude of reasons, mostly my sheer laziness at finding a pharmacy that carries the liquid form (they don't) and then leaving the prescription there to order it (whoops did you need his insurance card?) and then not being able to find his insurance card (um it's red with a big Medicaid logo?) and changing insurance providers (REM FTW).

Laziness though, mostly.  Little Man goes through spurts of sleeping through the night where I decide it isn't necessary to add medicine into our daily routine. Then he goes another two weeks without sleeping and I get motivated to get the prescription.  Lather, rinse, repeat.

It was a fairly typical appointment, the doctor came in and questioned us about life in general and gave us 4 new specialist numbers to call.  Then she reminded us he was due two vaccines and left at 3:45 telling us we'd be seeing a social worker and a nurse before we were allowed to leave.

Nurse came in a few minutes later to stick the Little Man with his shots.  Obviously he hated them, and I rewarded him for the screaming with about 6 or so graham crackers, applesauce, and fruit snacks.  I read the vaccine warnings and tried to figure out a game for Little Man to play that wasn't as gross as his favorite activity of smushing his face against the dirty office mirror.

We waited and waited... I fed him more snacks and prayed I wouldn't run out of food.  I let him play the mirror game.  By 4:45 I gave up and burst out of the room in a fit of anger.  Looked up and down the hall and there wasn't a soul to be found in the clinic except a little old lady doctor.  We'd clearly been forgotten.  I bit my tongue and informed her we were leaving and to have my doctor email me please.  She seemed shocked when she saw my form (it says your arrival time) and asked me to wait just a moment longer and she'd see what had happened.  Lovely thought lady, but I'm out of patience and your head is detachable.  We left.

So my GPS gave me a lovely route out of the city where I had to smoothly reach for the car lock button as I tried not to look panicked... and we made it to meet one of my bests for dinner at TGI Fridays by 5:30.

I savored the glass of white wine and fried appetizers (I'm nothing if not classy) and got Little Man his favorite restaurant meal of chicken fingers and fries.  He ate all the fries, a granola bar or two, and some fruit snacks.  He smiled hello at the little old couple seated at a table close enough to us that we could hear their conversations.  It was all going so well.  Until I looked over at Little Man and he was turning a little green...

I guess we'll never know what sent him over the edge.  The copious amounts of snacking that day combined with vaccines that had "may cause nausea" as a side effect is my first guess.  But suddenly I was holding the basket of chicken fingers under his mouth as he vomited out the entire days worth of snacks.  Seeing it seemed to gross him out enough that he pushed the basket away and was ready to bolt... except he needed to do it again.  Ughhhhhhh. 

Little Man was now smiling and looking much better sans stomach contents.  Well, looking less green tinged, but now he was covered in vomit.  The nearest bathroom was on the opposite end of the restaurant, and the place was packed.  It took me a solid minute of staring before I could figure out what we were going to do next. 

The little old man reached over and handed me a stack of napkins as my poor friend K offered to pay the check so we could run out the door in shame.  Luckily we were hidden away in the back corner of the dining area so I pulled myself together, whisked him out of the highchair and whipped off his shirt.  Wiped him down with the inside of the shirt and the handy wipes they give you for buffalo chicken wings.  Tossed it all in his backpack and stuck him in his jacket as we walked calmly through the restaurant and to the parking lot, his jeans covered in vomit and me pretending like this was totally normal.   And that it totally wasn't vomit.

We drove the two hours home while I prayed that it was a one and done deal.  It was, thankfully.  He got a warm bath and a quick snuggle before heading to bed and sleeping a solid 8 hours. 

And you thought the explosion was going to be me at that doctor's appointment.   Silly you.

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