11 April 2008

Apparently, they have a class in medical school about people like me

We are taking the Redneck Kids From Hell to New Orleans next week. By. George. If I get hit by a truck tomorrow, we will be taking the RKFH to New Orleans, accompanied by an urn. I. Am. Going.

The Nice Kid has strep. She has it BAD, considering these are the children of The Big Boy and they don't get sick. Me? I'm a mass of recessive genes which is a GOOD thing, considering I'm the "drug reaction from space" parent. We have no relationship with a pediatrician because...these kids don't get sick. We show up for vaccinations. We don't show up any other time because there's no reason. So next week is Spring Break and we're going to New Orleans to eat and...TNK gets sick.

I am 52 years old. I have been raising kids for nearly 30 years and I haven't killed one yet; they are healthier than anyone else's kids, and they ROCK. So, I'm not real worried about getting them to voting age. They come from good stock.

Today we walked into the doctor's office and the person we came to SEE isn't there, so we see the doctor. Now, I don't know how that 12 year old girl got an MD, but puh-leeze. She walked into the room and...there I was. Very politely.

Now see...I know we're taking this trip. And I knew YESTERDAY, because I'm the mama, that this isn't the ordinary "funk" that will go away if you let the fever get high enough. (My kids know: Fever is our friend. It kills the funk. We like fever. Just drink the damn water.) So yesterday, I gave TNK, at intervals, two Keflex, left over from their dad's recent skin cancer. No big deal. IT'S A 24-HOUR JUMP on whatever meds the doctor will prescribe today. This ain't my first rodeo.

And then we get there this morning and oh, my Lord. I have sinned.

The little doctor girl picked up the bottle of TNK's father's antibiotics that I had so thoughtfully provided and says, "What's this?" And I explained. You could see, visibly, her nostrils widen. That's okay.

She says, "This isn't the antibiotic I would have prescribed." (Well, hell. Dumbass. If I were PRESCRIBING we'd be dancing around on weight-loss drugs and Ecstasy.)

And I say, "That's what I had." Her shoulders pulled back. (I'm beginning to realize...this bitch ain't married and she's got NO kids. I am in trouble.)

And she pokes around at TNK kid and announces, "She has strep." And I say, "Strep! Strep is good!"

They ALL turn around and look at me. The little doctor girl's nostrils flare, her shoulders pull back and her spine stiffens.

I explain, "We can FIX strep! Strep can be fixed! We are happy!" The little doctor girl is not amused...I am cracking me UP and she is getting tighter than Dick's hat band.

So we address the issues and then The Little Doctor Girl picks up The Big Boy's half-empty bottle of medicine and says, "You know, you should always finish any prescription."

Well. Fucking duh.

So I say, "I just married him. I didn't take him to raise."

Oh, Y'ALL. Her nostrils widened, her shoulders pulled back, her spine stiffened and her asshole DREW UP. She INHALED.

I dug around in my bag for a leftover dog sedative or at LEAST some Ecstasy from the last second grade birthday party. Nothing. Losing my touch. And FINALLY, we were dismissed.

Later on, I have the prescription for the "proper" antibiotic filled, and I take one out for TNK to take. Only I realize, every box of pudding and jello and glass of water she's had all day is piled up everywhere and so I start doing the mama thing...PICK THAT SHIT UP! And then I start issuing orders about all the clothes piled on the couch and all the shoes in the floor and then I have this glass of water in my hand and...where's the antibiotic? I had it. I drank the water.

Remember when I took the dog's pill? At least I've moved up the food chain.

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