Oh, hi! I’m sorry I didn’t get around to posting yesterday. I totally would’ve, except for the fact that I spent the ENTIRE DAY:
A) Driving to the doctor
B) At the doctor
C) Driving to another doctor
D) Getting lost between doctor’s offices
E) Waiting at the pharmacy
F) Swearing about getting lost between offices
G) Having a coronary over the cost of all of these misadventures.
So that was fun.
In related news, I still kind of hate doctors.
In further related news, my daughter and I are delicate flowers. Ouch! Stop breathing so close to me!!
Hey, remember when I somehow borked up my neck, again, and had to find a new chiropractor? That was fun. Well, not the neck part, but the finding a new doctor I actually liked part. He was great! He fixed me right up.
So of course it came as no surprise whatsoever, on my fourth visit, when he informed me that he was moving away. I mean, OF COURSE HE WAS.
My neck got better and I didn’t seek a replacement. I knew the office where I’d seen him was going to bring in someone new eventually, and I figured that if I had a problem, I’d just call back there again whenever it happened.
Well, IT HAPPENED this weekend. I was bent over, started to stand up, whacked my head on something, and my neck went *CRUNCH* and I—ever the intellectual—thought to myself, “Huh. That can’t be good.”
It was not good. It was several different varieties of double-plus ungood, in fact. So I called the old doc’s practice and begged them to tell me that the new doctor was there and would take my insurance. And the new doctor IS there but doesn’t take my insurance YET, because my insurance likes to make sure that getting approved onto their plan is only slightly easier than assembling a nuclear bomb, and twice as slow. The good news is that they were still willing to see me and “work out the insurance stuff later.”
So yesterday started out with a visit to the new chiropractor. For almost two hours. First there was the paperwork. Then there was the waiting. Then there was assessment, and finally (FINALLY!) some adjustment. Said adjustment miraculously took me from “so much pain I want to die and incidentally I can’t really turn my head” all the way down to “enough pain that I am still chomping Advil like candy, but hey, my head moves again!” So that was good. Even though some of the appointment involved aromatherapy, which generally would make me extremely skeptical. (It was prefaced with, “Okay, this is a little woo-woo, but I really think it helps.” Acknowledgment of the woo-woo gets points from me.)
But the new chiro also wanted me to have some x-rays taken. Across town, of course. And could I just go do them right away, so that I could come back the next day for more work? Sure, no problem!
Then I had just about enough time to run home and gather up Chickadee and go to the x-ray place. There was more paperwork. There was a lot of waiting. And finally they called me to say that it would likely be another thirty minutes to an hour, and I told them I’d have to come back, because…
… Chickadee and I had appointments with a new dermatologist. First mother/daughter pedicures for the first time, and now mother/daughter dermatologist appointments. How shall I top this, next time? Mother/daughter dentist trip? Mother/daughter pap smears? The mind does boggle at the possibilities.
We left the x-ray place and promptly got lost on our way to the dermatologist. Because my whore of a GPS unit is all “ARRIVING AT DESTINATION!” when in fact we’re driving along on a road and there is NOTHING. No buildings. Why doesn’t it just say “GOOD LUCK, PUNK!” instead? But we finally found it, and in we went.
Chickie was up first. This doctor is now postulating that she has—are you ready for this? I hope you’re sitting down—a nickel allergy. HOW a nickel allergy causes head-to-toe rash I’m not entirely sure, and I don’t want to conclude that the doctor settled on this as the “most probable cause” simply because my poor kid has a rash INSIDE HER BELLY BUTTON (close to the site of the snap on her pants), but I have to say, I was skeptical. Regardless, the doc did suggest what sounded very reasonable to me: Let’s get her skin CLEARED UP, first, and then go back to the allergist for some targeted patch testing once she’s no longer all rashy. Fine.
The doctor also explained her reasoning behind the two topical prescriptions she was giving us for Chickadee to use, and then fixed me with a VERY STERN GAZE and said, “And in the meantime, NO CHEMICALS ON THIS CHILD’S SKIN. Arm & Hammer detergent. No dryer sheets. Special soap. Special shampoo. Special lotion! She needs to be kept free of irritants.” I agreed, because that seemed more prudent than pointing out that some days, I’m pretty sure the child is MADE of irritants.
She wrote me out a long list of approved products, then asked what brought ME in.
I explained about my lifelong acne, my recent elimination diet, the effect wheat seems to be having on my skin. She listened and nodded, and then, I don’t know, maybe I was just overwhelmed from all of the information she’d just given me about Chickadee, maybe I’d just reached saturation for the day, I DON’T KNOW, but I’m pretty sure she said:
“Blah blah blah atypical acne blah blah blah rosacea blah blah blah sensitive skin blah blah blah antifungal blah blah blah but I’m really not sure what I’m looking at, here.”
Then I got two prescriptions, too, although apparently I can still be a rogue and use dryer sheets. I think.
Finally we left, and headed BACK to the x-ray place. There I was instructed to walk around braless until they were ready to image my neck. Fun! Three x-rays later I was allowed to put my bra back on and leave. In the meantime, Chickadee first complained of being too parched to continue living and then spilled a big cup of water in the middle of the waiting area floor. She has clearly inherited my grace.
From there it was over to the pharmacy, where I was delighted to discover than all of the hypoallergenic hygiene products my child now requires are special-order only. No problem! They can order them for me! Which size body lotion would I like? I can get 4 ounces for $8, or 10 ounces for $15, or 28 ounces with a simple second mortgage on our home. And the shampoo costs even more, and I cannot even speak of the soap without weeping.
[“What about Cetaphil?” I’d asked the doc. Couldn’t she just use Cetaphil?” She looked at me as if I’d just suggested letting my baby bathe in a tub full of piranhas.
“CETAPHIL IS FULL OF CHEMICALS!” she’d roared. Okay, she didn’t roar. But I felt chastened.]
Finally, we returned home. Otto was kind enough to take us out to dinner, and it turns out that there are very few neck or skin ailments that cannot be fixed or at least GREATLY HELPED with liberal application of nachos. Thank goodness.