Disposable Salvation

You know, I have come to realize how much I enjoy going to the doctor's office alone. It doesn't matter if the visit involves painful procedures, invasions of privacy, or *gasp* the scale. What matters is that I go there by myself. It is a retreat, a getaway. It is easy. It is worth getting a sitter for.

Today Gemma needed shots.We were overdue for her 15 month old immunization, not to mention the 18 month ones. She is now 19 months old. So I took the three littles and off we went. It's probably a good thing the visit wasn't for me because nothing raises my blood pressure quite like bringing my children to the doctor's office. No matter how I prepare them with discussions on obedience and manners, nothing can distract them from the wonder and awe of this medical establishment. From the moment the doors slide open and we walk through, it is a matter of survival for me. I must come out of that building sane.

So today I started out with distraction via books and cute posters on the wall. We talked about the cartoon fish with swords and hammers for noses. As we waited we read about puppets going to the doctor and that we didn't need to be afraid of the "s" word. Shot. But it wasn't enough. "What does this do? Where is the bathroom? How come when I stand here, the doors slide open? What is the rubber thing on the wall behind the door? What happens when I touch it? What's inside this door?" And on and on and on.

Finally the nurse came and called us back. I was relieved, containment was in sight. But alas, no. "What is this? What is that? What is in this drawer? Lets all climb on the exam table. What are these stirrup things for mom? Can I look in your ear with the little flash light? What are these gloves for? Why is this trash can red and why does it have needles inside?" I resorted to bribery with candy. We sat in silence as I ever so slowly handed out Sweetheart candies to each of them, one at a time. The only words were mine, reading the message on each heart before rationing it to it's doom. Be mine, first kiss, cool. These were the words of my temporary salvation. The doctor came and the partners in crime were distracted by all the poking and prodding happening to their sister. The doctor (who is the father of four children himself) could quickly tell that we needed reinforcements and he pulled out the disposable gloves. For the next few minutes he and I sat there, blowing them up into chicken shaped balloons for my three little monkeys. The thumb made a pretty good beak and all four fingers stuck straight up like a comb on the head of a rooster. We used pens and drew eyes to complete the fowls' faces. The poultry had brought peace. The end was in sight.

After the visit was over and I was gathering our things and putting on coats, I noticed the standard "well child care for this age" sheet sitting out for me. Despite the fact that she was now 19 months old, they had laid out the 15 month old sheet for me to take home. I did what I do with all of those papers, I stuck it in my purse to be thrown away as soon as I walked in my door. It seems wrong to throw it away there in the office, but blah blah blah, I've read it all before. As I grabbed it from the countertop, one particular line jumped off the page at me. In bold letters: Avoid Choking and Suffocation and the first bullet point underneath was "keep all plastic bags, balloons, and small hard objects out of reach." And then I laughed out loud at the irony.

It was the chicken balloons that had saved me.