So, I would’ve gotten here sooner, but I was sort of busy yelling very loudly. Also, rending my clothing and cursing the name of anyone I’ve ever known. Lucky Otto! He picked such a good time to visit!
There were just a few sucktastic days in there for various reasons. Many of those reasons are only interesting to me, I’m sure, (a bleach spot on my favorite purple shirt! WHY, GOD, WHY?) but those of you who aren’t busy skipping everything I’ve ever said about my children’s health and then telling me that I am just randomly “doing things” to my children and I need to stop (why? why am I doing that? for the sheer joy it brings me to not be able to cook like a normal person?) might want to hear about Monkey’s recent appointment with the allergist, I thought.
Actually, I would like to hear about his appointment with the allergist, too. But there’s nothing I can share about that, because it didn’t actually happen. Instead, I got the kids from school early, headed into the Big Bad City—armed with the directions my ex had kindly forwarded to me because he knows I get lost easily—and got lost.
Rather, I thought I was going the right way and it turned out that I wasn’t. And by the time I figured that out, I had entered a stretch of roadway where it was impossible to turn around for about ten miles.
There was a lot of swearing and pounding on the steering wheel and calling my ex to ask why these directions which I had followed to the letter had taken me to a different state, and in the end we got there about twelve minutes late.
And they refused to see us.
(Would anyone like to visit the only medical office in the WORLD where they run completely on time? I think I found it. I even know how to get there, now.)
And you know, it’s fine. It’s fine, really. They’re well within their rights to refuse to see us if we’re late, even if I stand there crying and very much wanting to to harm everyone associated with my 90-minute-long adventure that resulted in bupkis. But that’s fine.
He’ll go another time, and maybe that will be useful.
In the meantime, I finally wrangled a copy of Monkey’s blood test results from his primary doctor, as I was becoming increasingly curious as to what would constitute inconclusive results yet prompt the doctor to recommend we go gluten-free. So now I have a sheet full of numbers that confirm what I’d suspected: He was tested for the 3 things that tend to indicate celiac, and 2 of the three tests were negative. The third is a whopping positive, but also considered the most general of the available tests. It indicates the kind of allergic reaction which celiac is, but but doesn’t confirm it to be either an intolerance of gluten or of apples or even Rush Limbaugh. We just don’t know.
We should really see an allergist.
(I am full of good ideas.)
In the meantime, I completely bungled the PTA newsletter this month. Go, me. It’s all fixed now except for my intense need to curl up in the corner and never take on anything like this ever again. Basically, my multi-tasking ability is just fine, but my multi-stressing ability is not. I can handle many things at once as long as they’re low-stress. Throw in a few high-stress things at once and I’m a wreck.
So. Now I know Monkey’s test results, and now I know why it’s important to double-check everything and get a fresh pair of eyes to review the newsletter before I send it off to the printer. Fine. But in the future, either my son can be healthy and not have eighty gazillion doctors’ appointments on every end of the earth OR I can handle the stupid newsletter.
I’ll just leave the PTA and my son’s antibody levels to duke it out and get back to me.