I’ve been doing the photoblog, one-post-a-day thing for so long that it is kind of hard to get back in the true weblog, post-anytime-you-want sort of deal. Plus, this new project is just too much fun.
Schlepped the kids to the doctor yesterday for a checkup. Boychild is huge…something we already knew just from standing next to him…he’s 5’1″ tall at age 11. The doctor says if he keeps growing at this rate (which he thinks unlikely), he’ll be 6’3″ by the time he’s done. He’s been complaining of pain in his knee lately, right under the patella, which Doctor man believes is Osgood-Schlatter’s disease. It occurs in (mainly) boys of this age and disappears in their late teens.
I ask you…if it up and spontaneously disappears, should it really be called a DISEASE??? Or just a Syndrome. Maybe an Inconvenience. I officially object to the use of the word Disease in this instance. Dammit.
The Girlchild is also huge, 4’5″ tall, which was evident in the way she towered over the classmate that escorted her to the office for checkout yesterday. This soccer season should be interesting.
Turns out both kiddos needed a booster shot yesterday, the Chicken Pops vaccine (I can’t be the only one who calls it that…), which came as a surprise to the Girlchild. An unpleasant surprise. As tough as the little bird is, she is the biggest needle fraidycat on earth, she just does not dig pain of any stripe. Unhelpful in the extreme was the bitch whore cow of a nurse administering the injection. She demanded that I physically restrain Boychild (who could give a crap someone’s sticking a needle in his arm) so he wouldn’t, I don’t know, turn into the frickin’ Hulk and eat her up yum? Then when Girlchild started her tear-ridden floor show, Nurse Wussypants acted like the child had suddenly grown spikes and an insatiable bloodlust for forebrain-stunted immigrants, and scurried over to the door to shriek for help.
Here is where I Lost My Cool.
She does not need to be physically restrained, much less by a complete stranger, I snapped. Nurse Wussypants blinked at me. Get over here and give her this injection or I will do it for you, I snapped again. I Do. Not. Have. patience for horseshit of this variety, particularly where my children are concerned, and I sincerely do not give a damn if that cow locked herself in the supply closet for the rest of the day, ala Elliot. If she doesn’t have the intestinal fortitude to deal with her chosen profession then she needs to get her ass into the nearest call center and start answering Verizon helpdesk requests in a way guaranteed to make the caller wish for a meteorite strike on their own residence, just to End The Agony.
Is it really too much to expect that you’ll deal with intelligent people at any given time, or has the population density become so, er, dense, that it’s statistically impossible? Whatever the case, I’m not backing down. Especially when this is the very same doctor’s office (albeit different doctor) that was responsible for this nightmare.
Here, have a picture of our cat collection, and their favorite catnip pusher supplier.
