Heal Thyself

My daughter is on her third cold of her winter break. I tend to think the frequency of her upper respiratory infections is a byproduct of her weakened immune system due to her pretty significant allergies and asthma, although chances are just as good she needs to be doing a better job in the hand washing department.  She does wash her hands, though, and she isn’t a big nose picker, at least not that I can tell, and honestly, even with her hacking all over the rest of us, she is still the only one with the constant cold, so weakened immune system, damn you. Eighteen months of breast feeding for nothing.

I broke down and took her to the doctor’s office. Now that she is almost twelve, she doesn’t need to go to the pediatrician as often as she did when she was young.  It’s not that she gets sick less often, but rather we as a family know how to handle her various illnesses better. Still, after a new cold every week for a month, it seemed time to at least get a read on those ears and sinuses. I was pretty sure we would be leaving the office at the least with a prescription for antibiotics but more likely with one for steroids as well, so I was dreading this little visit more than she was.

Every parent says that different ages of childhood bring different challenges, that one age is no better than another, but that is not true when it comes to going to the doctor. When you take a baby or a toddler to the doctor, you can expect a fight. There will be tears, and not just yours. You might have to hold a small body still against its will, one that suddenly has the strength of ten grown men. Not so much for a young adult. My daughter is the one who asked to go to the doctor, since she is at that age where Mom doesn’t know best, in fact, Mom is a fucking idiot and she would trust a perfect stranger’s judgment over hers even though she has kept me alive for over twelve years.

Anyway, the good part is there was no drama or fight. She got dressed. She got in the car. She got out of the car and walks into the office. There was no battle of wills or fight to the death. She sat and waited until her name was called, and she was just as leery of the germ laden waiting room toys as I.

The bad part, because isn’t there always a bad part, is that she was taller than the office staff. She was even taller than the doctor. She dreaded being weighed as much as I do. Having her blood pressure taken made her nervous enough to elevate it. She looked as out of place at the pediatrician’s office as she does ordering off the children’s menu. She isn’t an adult, but she isn’t a child. What an awkward place to be.

The nurse who helped us was no mental giant, and she irritated both of us. First, she wanted to know why we were there to see the doctor, while my daughter who towered over her coughed all over the place and blew her nose twice. Then she wanted to know if she had any allergies. I realize it’s a standard question, but how’s about you look at her chart before you waste everyone’s time. My kid is allergic to every tree, tree fruit, tree nut, things that grow on trees, under trees, near trees, and mold. If I took her to a forest, it would be to leave her for dead.  I just looked at her and said, “Where would you like me to begin?”

Also, the nurse’s name, I kid you not, was L’Oreal, complete with the apostrophe. I wonder if she has a sister named Maybelline and a brother named Revlon.

After a tussle over which sized gown my child could fit in, the doctor examined her and declared her sinuses and ears to be beautiful. Also, that she has a cold, and it’s probably the nasty ten to twelve day variety that’s making the rounds this holiday season.

I’m still glad I took her, if for no other reason than to validate what I already knew, she has a cold and she just has to wait it out. I also don’t mind a professional opinion on the sore throat and sinus pressure, since I can’t exactly prescribe medicine, although I sometimes think I should be able to. Plus, no antibiotics or steroids were needed. It’s much easier to live with a tween who isn’t on steroids.

And it’s not every day you meet a woman named after a makeup line, although I think it should be.