For Healthy People We Sure Go To The Doctor's A Lot

"When we went to Boston in February Max fell and hit his head. I spent the whole trip yelling at Max to get down off of the snow piles because he was going to fall and I didn't want to spend part of my trip at Mass General, and what happens, my mom sends me off to take the boys skating in Boston Common two hours before we're supposed to leave and Max falls and hits his head. He seemed ok at the time and during the walk back to the hotel, but at lunch things started heading south. He was a little groggy and then fell asleep at the table, but Max has a history of falling asleep in fine dining establishments and he had been up very late for several nights in a row. Then on the way to the airport he said he felt nauseous. I tried to put the windows down in the cab, but the child locks were on. I asked the driver to turn them off. He did, very briefly, long enough to put the windows down about 2 inches. I thought "hey, if this kid yaks in your cab, buddy, it's all on you." I guess it was the driver's lucky day since we pulled up to the airport with no upchuck incidents. No, that didn't happen until we were waiting at the gate. Max was laying down when I had the bright idea of giving him a ginger pill to calm his stomach. When he sat up to take it though, he had that horribly pained look on his face that every mother knows means a copious amount of vomit is imminent. I quickly scanned the area for a suitable recepticle. I found a trashcan about four feet away, next to a businessman eating a muffin, and ran over to take the top off since the hole was way too small for a panicky, regurgitating eight year old to navigate. Oddly enough, there was no top, it was just one large cover piece for a smaller ugly trashcan beneath.  But my mommie superhuman strength kicked in and I was able to wisk it off deftly despite its great size and bulk. Max was mere moments behind and, really, his timing could not have been any more perfect since he projectile vomited almost the exact distance to the now awaiting smaller ugly trash can. About ninety percent made it in, the remaining ten ran down the side. I was pretty pleased with the percentages, considering the timeframe we were working in.  I'm guess that the businessman was not all together happy with the situation seeing as he decided to take himself and his muffin elsewhere. Since there was some mess to be dealt with, I went over to the woman behind the counter and told her what happened. "He doesn't have anything contageous does he?" she snapped. "Nope, just a concussion." I tried to say casually, so I wouldn't cause any more alarm. She was eyeing me incredulously when I looked over and saw Max giving me the thumbs up, "I feel a lot better now!" After a nap on the plane, he seemed right as rain and the Kaiser advise nurse agreed with me. No need to do anything more than watch him for a couple nights. Then Natasha Richardson hit her head and died. Shortly after that Max started getting headaches. Of course, I panicked and rushed him the doctor, who assured me that any headaches he's having now could not possibly be related to a head injury that happened over a month ago. "But I am wondering about these swollen lymph nodes," the doctor said "if they don't go away in a week, bring him back in and we'll test him for mono." Great. So a week passes, the nodes are still swollen and Max practically begs to take a nap one day, so I took him in. Not until we were waiting at the elevator did Max realize what was about to happen. "Mom, do they need blood for the test?" When I answered "yes", the water works came on and the whining started too. I bet no one has ever heard an eight year old boy beg to go to school with so much fervor. When we arrived at the lab, it was all I could do to persuade Max to get off the elevator. I realized quickly I was going to have to bring out the big guns. I called Daddy. I was sure I was going to need some muscle to hold the boy down for this extraction, since eight year old boys, like people on PCP and mothers who lift cars off of their children, have the strength of ten men. Unfortunately, Andy had a meeting and would never make it in time, but he was able to talk Max down to a level where he could sit calmly in a chair without muttering "I can't, I can't, I can't." It seemed as if we may have turned a corner, when they called his name, Max actually stood up, but then he froze right where he stood. I had to stand behind him and start walking, using my body to push his along, sort of like herding cattle. Then we got to the doorway and he managed to get a death grip on the door jamb that was nearly impossible to pry loose. After cajoling, threatening and a little bit of cursing, I finally got him into the room. A woman directed us to cubicle two. Max began to wail.  Then she directed us to cubicle four. Cublicle four being for the more difficult patient, which Max more than qualified as. We eventually made our way to down to our awaiting phlebotomist and things seemed to be improving, when Max started to hyperventilate and got the vomit look. Being a medical facility there was an easy to reach recepticle right next to us, Max leaned over and spit and cried into it, but, thankfully, no vomit came. Our phlebotomist really was a pro, she got Max to stand up, quit hyperventalating and even sit in the chair, but once she put the rubber band around his arm, it all started again. Desperately, I tried to shield his eyes and distract him with playing Connect Four on my phone. He wasn't having it and the phlebotamist knew it. She decided to get this fiasco over with and take the bull by the horns. She just put the needle right in, bang, first shot, proving she was given cubicle four for a reason. I knew she was a pro. Immediately, all the hystrionics ended and Max looked right at me and said "Oh, that wasn't bad" but I'll bet you cash money right now that the next time he needs blood drawn he won't remember that at all.

Some Things Don't Need To Be Modernized

Sunday sucked. All sorts of electrical things that could go wrong, did. But, the worst thing that happened that day was a man-made error. Really a Christina-made error. I lost my flipper, which is like a retainer, in that, it goes in my mouth and it costs a whole lot to replace.

My mother-in-law offered to take Andy and the boys to see "Monsters vs. Aliens 3D", but Andy couldn't go be cause he needed to stay home and mulch. I realized later that he really wanted to go to Justin's man party. I realize now that he is going to read this and take acception, but one only needs to drive by and see my mulch-less beds to see that I am right. So I went to the movies with Louisa and the boys, since "Monsters vs. Aliens" is one of the few children's movies I have ever had the desire to see while it was playing in theatres.

Because we are living in a trying economy and because I am cheap in general, we all stuffed ample amounts of snacks into our pockets to avoid those high snack bar fees. Luckily we had a well filled pinata at Jakey's birthday party the day before, so cheap sugary treats were in great supply. The boys had the candy bags, Granny had the Pirates Booty and I had the water, we were set. When we got there, my mother-in-law was very anxious to get a good seat so she ran in with the boys while I secured our 3D glasses. After walking back and forth between "Monsters vs. Aliens 3D" and "Monsters vs. Aliens" not 3D, several times, I finally located my family in the very back row of the theatre. Out came the snacks and on went the glasses. About halfway thru the movie I decided that I wanted a piece of gum and lucky for me Jake's candy bag contained some. So I took out my dental appliance, placed it in my lap and promptly forgot about it.

The whole way home I had the feeling that something was missing, but I just couldn't put my finger on it until I walked into the kitchen to get a piece of gum, then it dawned on me. I took off like a flash, weaving in and out of cars, all the while trying to call the movie theatre on my cell phone. I am not afraid to admit that I was a traffic menace that afternoon. I screeched up to the front of the building, dashed inside and breathlessly asked the "movie consierge" if anyone had turned in a retainer (I didn't feel like explaining what a flipper is). He said "no", so I made a b-line straight for the theatre which was now very very dark, since the next group of movie goer's were nestled in and watching previews. I raced up to our seats with iPhone flashlight in hand and began crawling on my hands and knees over the super sticky movie theatre floor. It was gross, but the thought of laying out another $400 to my dentist was even more distasteful to me than hearing my jeans pealing off the floor with my every move. I excused and pardoned me all the way down the line finding nothing but the half empty bag of jelly beans we'd left. Very disappointing. My next stop was the trashcan I deposited our remainders in as we left. I sifted through popcorn and candy wrappers and blue slushie cups all the way up to my elbows and still no luck. I even asked the slack-jawed "usher" where they would dump the stuff they swept up. "Uhh, it was crazy in there, cuz people were already sittin' when we went to clean up, so we didn't get much cleaned up," my heart leapt with excitement, "but what we did get would be in the compactor by now." Upon hearing "compactor" my heart sunk back to its original spot. This happened the last time I lost my flipper, when I threw it away after eating at McDonald's on New Year's Eve day. You see, dumpsters have gone high-tech. They have incorporated compacting technology originated in suburban kitchens throughout the seventies. Unlike the trash compactors of yore however, the liability from someone being wholely crushed is great, so once something goes in, no one is getting it out, no one. I knew I was done for. I returned again to make another search after the show was over, but I knew it was futile. The only thing my second search did for me was piss me off more. In the light, I could see tons of cups and popcorn and wrappers and nacho trays and straws and lots of other flotsam and jetsom left behind, so someone please tell me how it is that those pimply faced, half-stoned teenagers were so efficient about sweeping up my flipper and getting into the dumpster of no return?