October 30th, 2009

Dear Leader

Dear Leader is Not Amused

I took Margaret to the doctor’s office this morning. She’s been sick for a solid week, appeared to be getting better on Monday & Tuesday, but crashed Tuesday night and has been feverish and obviously not feeling well ever since. When her fever was actually higher last night than it had been the previous night by a whole degree I decided that it was time to take her in, so in we went.

Our regular doctor wasn’t available on account of being an infectious disease specialist on the side and assigned to coordinating the H1N1 response. I liked the sub a lot, an older l woman who clearly knew her stuff. Margaret was still feverish and had spent the morning alternatively screaming at me and clinging sadly to my chest, so it was nice to have a doctor readily agree that something was clearly up, even after her ears proved to be uninfected and her throat swab came back negative for strep. The doctor suspected a brewing case of bronchitis and proscribed that pink stuff, but also wanted to rule out a urinary track infection. This meant getting a urine sample, which in a baby means a teeny tiny catheter.

I don’t have problems subjecting my teeny tiny baby to mildly unpleasant medical procedures if they are called for. I want my child well, and frankly a minute or two of discomfort is a small price to pay for peace of mind. The nurses (note the plural) came in, and the senior one did the catheter while the junior one held Margaret’s legs and I held her arms and tried to say soothing things. Margaret not only resisted mightily, she held her urine until after the catheter was removed, at which point she promptly peed all over the table and the two nurses.

In one of those amusing coincidences of blogland, once I did my lunch time blog reading I read this post at Flotsam. It’s especially funny in light of my morning experience, in that I think anyone expecting an unsedated toddler to lie perfectly still for half an hour with a catheter in place is unclear on the concept of “toddler”. I mean, I absolutely would not want Margaret to be sedated unless it were absolutely necessary, but on the other hand there is no way she’s going to stay still while awake under the best of circumstances. I’m just glad my pediatric practice has more reasonable expectations when it comes to how small children behave. For example, they recognized that restraining a 23 pound girl long enough to get a catheter in was a three person job, and the nurses responded to being peed on after they’d been given up on getting a sample in the tube by pouring what few drops they could get off the pad on the table into a sample container as quickly as humanly possible. In short, these guys are great. Now go read the post I linked so you can chuckles at instructions like “Be sure to share your child’s wishes with the staff.” Yeah. I think Margaret expressed her wishes quite clearly this morning without any help from me.