Under threat of VERY LONG TIMEOUTS and with the promise of French fries after
the appointment, we embarked on our visit to the doctor. I seriously think there
is some sort of frenzy inducing noise or smell that only my son can detect,
which exists in places where hushed conversation and cranky people abound. Damn.
We enter the building and he goes nuts. He's swinging on the ropes. He's jumping
up and down on one foot. He races to the germ-filled sick kid toy quarantine
area and LAYS HIS FACE down on the magnetic play table. I'm trying to keep my
cool, the receptionist is feeling chatty and taking her sweet time swiping and
stamping and gathering. I must have looked like a kid who has to go to the
bathroom really bad, because I was sort of hopping up and down, making "you.
get. over. here. now." faces at my son, who is blissfully blathering on and on
about something to the waiting room at large. They called us almost immediately,
and I shepherded all the kids back to the exam room. The two girls were great.
The boy was all over the road. He spun in circles. He kicked off his shoes, he
climbed on all the chairs. He talked and talked and talked. After a brief exam
and a conversation with the doctor, I watched my son yank open the door, run
down the hall to the nurses' station, perform a crazy dance that involved
patting his hip and stomping to much laughter and applause, and then disappear
around the corner into the scary play area. Mercy. Dr. Hot Hot Hot says we've
got good tonsils and adnoids, no worries there. He wants us to try a
decongestant before bed, and nasal steroids in the morning for a while. Hooray!
A plan of action. Of course, drugging him morning and night sounds like a plan I
would have come up with during one of my blacker moods. I was thinking along the
lines of tranquilizer darts and a blow gun, but we'll try the nasal spray first.