Just hand over the drugs and nobody will get hurt

No matter how prepared I think I am, somehow our day always falls apart when somebody has to go to the pediatrician.  

The Big Kid has been struggling with a cough that just wouldn’t go away.   Honestly, I hadn’t even noticed all that much until my husband said something.  Oh sure, I knew he’d been coughing, but the way my days all blend together, I just sort of lost track of time while the lyrics of “hack, hack, cough, cough” played on in the background.   So, lest I be labeled a lousy mother, I called the pediatrician.

They could get him in at 4:10, which meant I’d have to ask my boss if I could leave a half hour early.  That didn’t sound too bad until I arrived fifteen minutes late.   Great, now I get to be a total loser, coming in late and leaving early.    But as it were, the poor child could not stop coughing long enough to get ready for school.    Around fifteen minutes before the bell was scheduled to ring, I gave up any hope of him being on time for school, or me being on time for work.

Instead, after the usual breaking up rivalry and screaming that somebody was going to get it and racing around to deliver 16 bags to the car,  I took him along as I dropped off the Little Kid at the babysitter’s house because it didn’t make sense to backtrack since school and work are so close together.    So, naively thinking I could still get it somewhat together at that point, I asked the babysitter to have Little Kid ready to go promptly at 3:00 in the afternoon, earlier than usual.   Then, I raced back to the car to get Big Kid to school.

Had I known he would have a substitute teacher who was on the verge of a nervous breakdown, I may have reconsidered taking him to school at all.   As it were, I didn’t want to lose out on my own paycheck as I can’t even afford milk right now, but after seeing this guy, I may have been willing to drink water for a week - or two.  I never thought I’d find myself enabling a child to get out of class, but after seeing this sub for five minutes, I wanted to write the entire class a pass to go to the nurse’s office.   This poor old man was part doddering professor and part military police.   He was teetering between biting their heads off for the tiniest flinch and scrambling to figure out what to do when they asked him about something that wasn’t on the lesson plan.   He’d tell them they could have more time to work on an assignment, and then two minutes later tell them they couldn’t because by golly, the lesson plan was laid out in 15 minute increments and they were already off schedule! 

Then, here we are, walking in late, completely throwing a wrench in the man’s obviously well-oiled machine.   I stood in the back of the classroom for a while, then even approached him and he still didn’t acknowledge me.  He had this dodgy sort of look like he thought if he just avoided my eyes, he wouldn’t get hurt.    I think he needed to go to the nurse’s office, but as it was, I forced him to look at me, so I could make him aware that my kid, unlike the three girls who had just returned from the nurse’s office, really was sick, so to please excuse him to the nurse if he complained or couldn’t stop coughing.   I left there, wishing my son well and completely confident that the man had no idea which child was mine.   I did, however, stop at the nurse’s office and tell her that if the correct child, somehow did magically appear in her office, to please just keep him there, away from that crazy old man.

When I finally arrived at work fifteen minutes late, I was already tired.  It occurred to me, however, that I had failed to make someone at school aware that Big Kid was going to need to leave early for his appointment.   So, I called and asked if he could be sent to the office when it was time for me to pick him up.   Apparently, it’s too hard to stick a post-it note to your forehead, or the clock, and just follow through, so instead, I was told I’d have to call back five minutes before I was actually on my way.   I already knew what would happen.  I would call and get the answering machine.   At 2:20, I called.   Turns out, I’m a genius.

So, after repeated calls, now wanting to bang the phone against somebody’s head, I got through to a real person, who had to be reminded what grade my son is in, but in the end, did say they’d have him sent to the office to wait for me.

At 2:30, I made sure I left promptly to reverse the whole line of pit stops, so that I could gather both kids for the thirty to forty minute drive to the pediatrician and make it there on time, because we all know that “if you are going to be more than fifteen minutes late for your appointment, you will need to reschedule”, and there was no way on earth I was repeating this day.

We actually made it there, and through the waiting room maze in record time, as there was light traffic and a cancellation.    When I got the kids back in the car, I started thinking how the consignment shop right down the street probably owed me money by now, and that might pay for the copay and prescription, if not a gallon of milk to boot.  So, I braced myself for the Big Kid attitude that would surely come when I told him we were making a stop.   Under normal circumstances, I wouldn’t blame him, but since I’d had a rough day already and just spent 30 minutes driving out to the doctor’s office, never once hearing even the slightest cough, I figured I could let go of my guilt and get my money.

We weren’t inside the consignment shop five minutes before I heard those words every mother dreads, “I have to go to the bathroom.”   And of course, there is no public restroom at the consignment shop.   More attitude ensued when I told him there were no bathrooms within walking distance and we would have to get in the car to take him somewhere, but as much as I did not want to have to do the whole buckle/unbuckle of Little Kid again, I couldn’t really be angry seeing as how I’d given the boy a hundred ounces of water to drink for his now silent cough.

After we completed our bathroom stop, we were finally back on the highway.  But, by now, we were well on our way to 6:00 p.m. and we were all getting quite hungry and irritable with each other.    I had to decide where to get his prescription filled, as due to a certain strong ingredient, the doctor’s office was unable to fax the order over and have it waiting for me upon arrival.   Instead,  I had to deliver it in person and wait around, with two tired, hungry children.   Remembering that the grocery store closest to our home has the absolute worst pharmacy service I’ve ever seen, ignoring both the elderly and the pain-stricken children having a meltdown in front of their counter, I opted for a different grocery store chain, a little further down the street.  It was the best of both worlds.  We could drop off the prescription, shop for some groceries, then be on our way home to finally eat.

Note to self: anything that appears to be the best of both worlds, is really just my world about to spin off its axis.

When the pharmacy technician told me that they could not fill the order there, I felt the first tremor.   Apparently, due to the one strong ingredient, they did not keep it stocked there.

Now I had two tired, hungry children and a very cranky Mama who would have to do the whole buckle/unbuckle thing for a fifth time tonight, because we’d have to make yet another stop to drop off the prescription - somewhere!   Not knowing what else to do, we went ahead and got our groceries. 

By the time we were finished, even the shopping cart itself was looking quite appetizing, but we headed on down the road to Walgreens just the same.

On the way in, I started the lecture, “We are not stopping to look at toys, candy, video games or anything else.  We are walking directly to the pharmacy counter, we are dropping off this prescription, and we are walking directly back to the car.  I do not want to hear fussing of any kind, so please keep your hands to yourself.”

So, when we successfully navigated the store by walking down the very boring, hosiery aisle, you can imagine, I’m sure, the look on my face when the pharmacist there told me that they, also, could not fill my prescription.   Oh, they had it in stock - that was the first thing I asked.  I even still had the wherewithal to ask if it was fruit-flavored for kids.    They informed me that it was their last bottle, and that it was indeed, grape.

Wait a minute, back up.   Did I just hear that this was their last bottle, that I was honestly standing ten feet from their last bottle, now with two very tired and hungry children and an extremely cranky Mama and now cold groceries in my trunk as well, and they were seriously telling me that I could not have it?   In the morning, somebody was going to find the store alarm ringing and a very big hole where the brick went through the window.  I was getting this prescription - one way or another.

I managed to stay calm long enough for them to explain that the doctor’s office had left some number off the form.   Blasted nurse practitioners!  I knew I shouldn’t have trusted that sweet demeanor and winning smile.    Now I had cold groceries getting warm, cranky children and a diaper that was going to leak who knows what all over me any minute - all because of some stupid little number.    But oh my goodness, if we don’t have the number, somebody in the insurance company is going to have a meltdown and we can’t have that, can we?

I have to hand it to the Walgreens pharmacist.  He was a young man, probably not accustomed to dealing with a woman on the verge of becoming a vandal just so she could go home and eat, but he handled it with great courage.    I pulled the doctor’s business card from my wallet, told him to call the exchange and just fix it.  I did not care what it took - just fix it.   I was going to leave his store, take my bedraggled children and my luke-warm groceries home, change a diaper, and eat the first thing I could get my hands on and when I returned I expected to have a grape-flavored narcotic, bottled up, labeled, and ready to numb my child into 12 hours of sleep.    And while he was at it, he might want to bottle up something for me too, because I was going to need it.

Five minutes later, I was pulling into my driveway.   When I saw the lights that indicated my husband was home, rather than working late as I’d anticipated, and I began to wonder if I could have dropped these children off to him hours ago, or at the very least, sent him out for this ridiculous goose chase of a prescription, my unhappy camper status was instantly upgraded to outraged, don’t-want-to-cross-her-in-the-woods camper.   Somebody was going to pay for this day, and right then, it was looking like him.

When he became irritated that I barked at him to feed the children, he didn’t realize how narrowly he escaped harm when I found out that he in fact, had just arrived home too.
But I had no patience left to explain all that.  So, I barked, and let the chips fall where they may.

It’s only been a few days ago and I don’t even remember who put the Little Kid to bed.  I only remember that by 9:30, I had the yummy grape medicine in my hand, and soon after, into my child.   Not long after that, I dropped into bed and when I looked back over my long day, I realized that except for first thing in the morning, I’d never heard the Big Kid cough once.

Shameless men and one shocked Mommy

I am a happily married woman.  Well, maybe not always happily, but definitely always married.    I do not look at the other fish in the sea, I do not flirt and I’m old and wise enough now to know that the grass is not greener on the other side.  

No matter what phases we go through or spats we have, I love my husband.  I’m not looking to trade him in or set him aside while I dabble in stupidity with somebody else.   When I got married, I went into this with the attitude that it is for a lifetime.

Now, in today’s world, I know I may be in the minority, but I still wish that the men out there would at least have the decency to respect my marriage until I’ve given them some sign that I don’t.

It never ceases to amaze me how desperate some men are to find a woman.    It should be an encouragement to us that we really are fine the way we are, that is, if it weren’t so doggone creepy.  We spend so much time worrying about our weight, our hair, our adult acne, the jagged scar down the center of our face, the hair growing out of our chin, whether or not our adult diaper is showing through our pants - and yet, some guys don’t even seem to notice any of that stuff.

Or, the fact that we’re pregnant with one child and holding the hand of another. 

Seriously.

Seriously?

I was once shopping for party supplies with my then preschool age son, when a store employee approached us and began to flirt with me, shamelessly.

I made every polite effort to make him aware of the child I had with me, the child I had in me, and the husband I had at home.

But this guy was not easily deterred.   When I mentioned the husband, he became even more shameless and told me I could call on him if my husband wasn’t satisfying.    Excuse me, my four year old child is standing beside me!  Shameful.   Plain and simple.  Shameful.

That’s when the protective Mommy mode kicks in and this guy no longer has a snowflake’s chance in July to get away from me fast enough.   I was not going to have this person, no longer deserving the honor of being called a “man”, stand there and model this behavior for my little boy.

No matter how far we’ve fallen from our marriage vows in today’s society, I still can’t believe the audacity of some people.   

But as much as that guy was desperate in a creepy sort of way, there’s another one whose desperation would surely make the top ten list, but is much more laughable.

When I go in for my Cancer follow ups, I have to go to a department called Nuclear Medicine.   They do all sorts of things there, but namely conveyor you under a high-tech camera for 45 minutes while they search for tumors or other signs that your body is turning against you.

Well, the last time I went in, I had to be verified in their computer system first.   I was escorted to a desk by a very well-dressed, professional looking man.   Now, let me remind you, I’d been without my regular medication for nearly a month, which means I’m pretty much fatigued, in a mental fog, hormonal and ready to beg, borrow or steal to get that tiny little pill back into my system.   But, I can’t do that until the giant camera says I’m all clear.   So, for the time being, I have to trudge through life like a sloth on Valium.

And yet, even in that puffy-faced, exhausted, glassy-eyed state, apparently, I’m attractive.    To think of all the money I could have saved on cosmetics if I’d known this before I had Cancer!

This man, who you’d never think to be anything but completely professional by his appearance, turned out to be another shameless flirt.   As he verified my existence in the computer, he noted with dissatisfaction that I am married.  In my slowed brain activity state, it took me a minute or two to realize he was flirting.  My first thought was something was wrong with our insurance and so help me if it screwed up my getting that beloved little pill back into my system, heads were going to roll! 

But as it turned out, no one was in danger, and to his dismay, not even my marriage.

Not only was I not interested, it was all I could do not to burst out laughing.

I mean, come on.   You want a woman in your life so badly that you’ll not only take one who looks like a bloated fish, but who could also potentially have a giant tumor eating away at her insides?

I guess that’s one way to avoid a long-term commitment.  

I think when these things happen, I am, at first, dumbfounded that these guys, who you know at some point were gangly, awkward teenagers scared to death of rejection, now approach me with such gall.   But then, it’s just plain bewildering to have been married two decades and spend your whole day tending to messy, whiny, naughty or otherwise needy children and then to suddenly be faced with how to respond to another man’s interest.  Shoot, you’re usually so exhausted, you don’t even know how to respond to your husband’s interest!

If you think about it long enough though, it is kind of funny.   As much as we feel like we’ve got a giant sign around our neck that reads, MOMMY, and that’s all we see ourselves as, there is always somebody out there who didn’t get the memo, or I guess, in this case, the birth announcement.

I guess I should be thankful.  As a busy mom, this is just what I needed!   I’m going to have so much time on my hands from now on, now that I know I don’t have to worry anymore.   As soon as I finish off this package of Girl Scout cookies, I’m going to pull on my “fat” pants and toss out my mascara.  

And if my husband takes issue with that, I’ll just send him out to look for pregnant women and Cancer patients.

Oh wait, he’s already had both of those and he’s still here.  Wow.  I’m the luckiest girl in the world.