For those of you playing along at home, this makes the third time in less than five weeks. In fact, the last time that we paid a primary care copay was only the day before yesterday.
The follow-up/ follow-up predication visit resulted from an uber-rude phone call from Drew's preschool:
Queen B(ee): "Drew won't stop coughing. I'm concerned that something is wrong with him."
Me: "Poor thing. I just took him to the doctor yesterday and the pediatrician said that his cough was caused by sinus drainage. I gave him some over-the-counter medicine this morning to help."
Queen B(ee): "Doctors can be wrong sometimes. This cough is terrible."
Me: "At first, I was concerned about croup because.."
Queen B(ee): Croup is highly contagious! You cannot send your son to school with croup! Now I will need to inform all the parents that his room is contaminated. You must pick him up immediately!"
Me: "Uhhh... like I was saying, I was CONCERNED about croup, but the doctor said that his lungs and throat were completely clear. No croup."
Queen B(ee): "Oh. But still. He should probably be at home. Why haven't you kept him out?"
Me: "Well, if you check your attendance log, you will see that I have kept him out for the past two days. But when the doctor said that he was fine to go back to school, I sent him. Are you asking me to come pick him up?"
Queen B(ee): "Unfortunately, I cannot make you pick him up. I'm just wondering if you are concerned about his comfort level."
Am I concerned about my son's comfort level? Well, no, not at all. That's why he bathes in ice cold water and sleeps on a bed of nails.
Of course I'm concerned about my son's comfort level! Good freaking grief.
But I am a working mother, and that means, just like you, Queen B(ee), that I have a job. One that expects me to show up and earn my keep. And if my son is well enough to go back to school, then I need to send him.
It's days like these when I wish that I did not work. Days when I want to sit at home - depressed, unshowered, exhausted, wearing sweatpants that are too tight, and complain to anyone who will listen about how hard it is to have a sick child. But instead, I went to work. And complained to my co-workers. And talked to Queen B(ee).
So I offered to pick him up and take him to another pediatrician for a second opinion.
During Drew's exam, I really wanted that second opinion to go my way. First and foremost, because I'm concerned about my son's comfort level (Sorry- now I feel like I need to say it outloud over and over), but I also want to send a big suck it to his preschool. Sorry. Just being honest here.
The end result is that that second doctor agreed with the first one. Yay!
Even though my conversation with Queen B(ee) did not go that well, I know, down deep, that she had Drew's best interest at heart. And she has a duty to protect the other children in his class as well. It wasn't what she said; it was how she said it that upset me.
No, actually... it was what she said, too. So, nevermind.
I am looking forward to walking into preschool with the doctor's note in hand. Of course, if Drew had been diagnosed with croup, I probably would have been looking for a new preschool today. And that would have made for an inconvenient week.
Instead of sending soldiers and weapons off to war, let's send toddlers and their germs. We could wipe out entire countries in no time flat.