I feel as though I am living at the doctor's office. Ok, that's a bit of an exaggeration, but we spend way too much time there. In the last 2 months I have been that office more often that I have been at my parent's house. Crazy, right? But between getting medications in order and trying to get Brenden's eczema under control, I find myself making appointment after appointment. Hopefully after today we're done for awhile.
Brenden's hasn't been feeling so well since we got home on Saturday and I injured my left index finger about a month ago and wasn't sure what I had done and if I needed to get it fixed. Both of our doctors are in the same office so it was easy to get appointments, on at 9:30 am and one at 9:50 am. I thought we might be cutting it a little close, but the lady on the phone assured me that we would be fine. Thank goodness I showed up early! The nurse that checked me in was not at all happy that we would need to rush around to get from one appointment to the next. (Anyone that has sat in a waiting room for an hour after their appointment time knows that doctors don't like to rush.) But they took great care of us. Even though Brenden's appointment was at 9:50 they took us back immediately, weighed him (30.5 lbs! GEEZ!) and took us straight to his pediatrician. She checked him out and luckily his ears are totally normal right now. She thinks he may have allergies on top of the cold, which is making him crabbier.
He may not feel 100%, but he's still a ham when he has a crowd. He flirted with the nurses, tried to use the stethoscope to listen to the doctor's heart, and ran from one child to the next in the waiting room. He wasn't very excited to escort me to my appointment and did everything he could to distract me while I was explaining my finger pain to the nurse. I followed after him, taking away cleaning bottles and medical equipment, while telling her that my pain was making normal activities, like buttoning shirts and zipping sweaters, almost impossible. They sent me to get an x-ray and Brenden continued to gallivant around like he owned the place. He found a few more nurses, procured a "hospital balloon" (a surgical glove blown up), and sat on everyone's lap.
Eventually we made it back to see my doctor. It looks like I tore a ligament on the outside of my finger, right near the joint. I have no clue what I did, although carrying 30 lbs of wriggling toddler might have something to do with it. I don't have to have a splint and I should be healed up in a few more weeks. If you see me in public in sweatpants, a t-shirt, and slip on shoes you'll know why. Please do not call What Not To Wear! On second thought, do call them. I could use a new $5000.00 wardrobe!