Monday, August 18, 2008

Just tell me what's wrong

I love my pediatrician. I've said before that I would live at that office if I could.  But, when there is an emergency, or what a first time mother like me considers an emergency, let's just say some members of the staff seem to be less than sympathetic.

Case in point, when Amelia was a newborn, one evening, out of the blue, she cried for almost 2 hours in a row.  This after two weeks of being the quietest baby ever born into my side of the family.  She barely cried when she woke up and once you fed her she was fine.  This was 2 hours of solid, desperate crying.  So we called the physician on call. And after 20 minutes (long twenty minutes of excruciating crying), she called. The diagnosis was "I don't know" She didn't have a fever, no visible signs of problems. The doctor on call had the audasity to tell me that it is only considered an emergency if the kid is crying for three hours in a row.  My very wise mother said "show me the pediatrician that would allow their baby to cry inconsolably for three hours". 

As we say in PR "que cojones". How dare she suggest that I wasn't suppose to call her, to wait it out, when I was paying $25 to page her.  I have a friend who's a pediatrician who doesn't understand why downtown Chicago doctors charge money for this service.  Me neither, it's not my fault you picked to be a pediatrician.  Kids get sick on Saturdays at midnight, not on weekdays form 9 to 5.  You should have been a dermatologist if you wanted to have evenings free. 

By the way, Amelia was colicky and saved by the awesome drops called Little Tummies, given to me as a shower gift by mother of two and kick ass friend, Kelly.  She was the one who diagnosed Amelia that evening and made me feel like I was right for calling the doctor. I should mention that when I told the doctor, who was not my lovely Dr. but the one on call, that I had those drops she said "you could try  them , but we don't really think they do much".  Ay, please!

They also can't tell you that your baby has a fever because she's teething.  Every mom in the world will tell you it's a fact but not your doctors. That takes me to my other insensitive episode with the people I pay to take care of my child and my fears.  

Amelia had a fever since Friday afternoon. Not a low grade fever. 102.9, 103.5.  Sunday rolled around and I checked in the book and it said, call the doctor if it's been three days and the baby has no other symptoms. So I didn't call. Better save those 25 dollars for when her gutts are hanging out of her body. Instead, I took her into the walk in hours. 

For as much as I love Amelia's pediatrician and nurses, I don't like taking her to share in the germs of the other children.  No parent likes it.  Trust me, we were all under caffeneited and hoping the cough, the fever, were nothing more than our exaggerated worry. 

So they call us in and the first nurse we encounter asks how long has Amelia had a fever.  I answer with the truth.  To what she says in a very condescending tone, "oh so it hasn't even been 48 hours".  So my husband,  who will always have my back, even if he knows I'm exaggerated about our baby's health, lied to the woman. He said "no, I think it started Friday morning".

From then on, it was Steve who answered every question in what seemed to be  an interrogation to catch us in the act of unnecessarily bothering people who get paid to take care of us. I had no need to open a can of Puerto Rican whoop ass, I'm saving that one for the movers today.  Steve took care of the condescending lactation specialist.

Yes, that was also her title which makes me wonder about those poor, exhausted women who call her when the milk doesn't come in and their babies are starving . "It hasn't really  been 48 hours, squeeze harder".  Ay, Mama!

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