So, I took Chase to his 3 year check-up. Despite my efforts (such as reading the book “Corduroy
Goes to the Doctor” and playing doctor with Chase ad nauseam for a week prior
hoping to calm his nerves), this was not a good (or even mediocre) experience.
Chase cried the entire way to the appointment (and we live a
grueling 20 minute away from the clinic, by the end of the drive there I kind
of wanted to put in ear plugs but thought the doctor may think that was
insensitive). Chase then cried while at
the reception desk checking into the appointment, he then cried while playing
with puzzles in the waiting room (are you sensing a pattern?).
The nurse greeted him with a cheerful, “Good Morning Chase”
in the waiting room. Chase greeted her
with an, “I don’t even like you.” But I
can’t really blame him; his appointment was at 7:30am. The nurse took us back to a tiny room. She asked Chase to stand on the scale to get
his weight. He screamed at her and
bolted out of the room, cheetah style.
And anyone who knows my child knows he isn’t a runner. He usually sticks as close to me as possible
when strangers are around. His fight of
flight reflux must have kicked in and he knew he wouldn’t win a fight against a 6 foot,
180 pound nurse. (It was actually a wise
choice; I would rather chase after my Chasey then apologize to a grown woman
for a bruise on her shin caused by my tot's Monsters University moon boots).
I did manage to grab my child after he weaved his way
through offices and a hallway (which is similar to a corn maze- I can’t even
manage to find my way out without reading signs) right before he made it out of
the front door. Luckily, he pushed the
handicap button to try to escape and had to wait a few seconds for the door to
open, which became my opportunity to snatch him. So into the nurse’s room we went again, for a
second attempt. Chase continued to
scream so the nurse said that we could be “excused from the appointment” due to
his uncooperativeness.
As I was gathering our belongings from the room, the nurse
asked Chase if she could help him put his coat on (I think she just wanted us
out as soon as possible). He replied, “Don’t
touch it. Only my mom puts my coat on.” The nurse put her hands in front of her chest
with her palms facing outwards as if my child was holding her at gun
point. I think she felt verbally
assaulted. As we walked out, there was a
line of nurses chucking at my child (of course they could hear what was going on. I’m sure everyone in St. Cloud heard my child,
and they wanted to check out the action). As we parted ways with the nurse, I heard her say to herself, "I love three year olds." For some reason I think she may have been using sarcasm.
After this fiasco, Chase and I left. He walked out cheerful and I walked out
hanging my head. So what did we do? We went to McDonald's. While we were sitting at the table enjoying
our McGriddle breakfast sandwiches, Chase leans over to me (Yes, we sit on the
same side of the table like we’re on a date.
No it’s not creepy, it’s cute.) and sweetly asks, “What was your
favorite part of the day?” Feeling defeated,
I answered, “I think my favorite part is still to come today, buddy.” I then asked Chase, “What was your favorite
part of the day?” He answers with a gigantic
smile on his face, “Going to the doctors.”
Just as I was about to raise my white flag to surrender, the
doctor’s office called and said that the nurse shouldn't have excused us from
the appointment and the doctor still wanted to meet with us. So, I reluctantly
grabbed my tot and off we went, back to the clinic. This time around, my child
was great (I wonder if it had anything to do with my stern talk about how his
behaviors were unacceptable. The talk
went a little something like this:
Me (to Chase): “Chase, I am sad at your behaviors at the
doctor’s office. Your behaviors that I
didn’t like were: screaming, kicking and running away.”
Chase (to Me): “Mommy, I’m not playing with you anymore.”)
This time around Chase let the doctor look in his eyes, ears
and mouth. All was great, until he got a
flu shot. Chase let out a huge scream,
but quickly calmed down after the nurse blew some bubbles (Bubbles are like
crack for kids. They can’t get enough of
them and crave them when they're gone).
Although he calmed down, it doesn't mean he was any less
pissed that he got a shot. On our way
out, Chase felt the need to let everyone know he wasn't pleased with getting a
shot. He stopped at the reception desk
and spoke with not one, but three receptionists about this. He told the first receptionist, “This shot hurt
ya know.” He hobbled over to the second
receptionist and said, “I’m mad this hurt,” pointing to his leg where his Dora Band-Aid
laid under his sweat pants and where the shot had pierced his leg. He told the third receptionist, “This really
hurt, ya know.” They all just sweetly
smiled at him and said, “We’ll see you next year.”
On a side note: Chase
picked both of his nostrils so deep at the doctor’s office that he had blood
running out of both nostrils. Cute, huh?
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