Doctor's Office Hell

Note to self--Scheduling joint check-up appointments for one's 2-year-old and 4-month-old is an astonishingly bad idea.

We love our doctor, Christine Baldrate of Northern Virginia Pediatric Associates. She's young, empathetic, stylish and pretty. Generally the boys are happy to see her (though less happy to see the nurse who comes in afterwards with the shots). Today, however, was an appointment of a different sort. Max, now firmly established in the world known as the "terrible twos," is suspicious of new experiences and new people and he has a stubborn streak more pronounced, even, than his mother's. Today's badness started right off the bat when the nurse walked in and tried to take Max's height and weight. As a newly mature 2-year-old, Max didn't have to take off his clothes and I figured that he would be excited about using the big boy scale and measuring tape out in the hall. Oh how woefully mistaken I was! Max threw an epic screaming tantrum as I tried time and again to hoist him onto the scale. I also had to use all of my strength to pin him up against the wall so that he could be measured. Meanwhile, Max's hysteria had thrown Henry into a fit of crying, and nurses and patients walking by us in the hallway were looking at me like I was some kind of abusive parent.

The nurse left us in the exam room, and I was glad to shut the door behind her because I figured it would dampen the sound of the screaming just a bit. I was able to interest Max in a box of raisins and to soothe Henry with some bouncing and for a brief moment, things quieted down. Then Dr. Baldrate walked in. The second he saw her, Max lept behind me and afixed his face to the back of my thigh. He refused to answer any of her friendly questions--"Did you just have a birthday?" , "How old are you?" -- and I felt a bit embarassed assuring her that, yes, Max was speaking and yes, in fact, he could form simple sentences (beyond that, he can sing "Twinkle Twinkle Little Star" and "The Alphabet Song" even if he came across like a deaf mute to his doctor!). Things went downhill from there as Dr. Baldrate tried to look in Max's eyes, nose, and ears. I had to physically hold him down and he was screaming like he was being tortured. This, of course, set Henry off again and really the crying didn't stop for the duration of the appointment.

In the end, Max was deemed to be in perfect health and Henry was as well. Both boys were the happy recipients of shots and purple bandaids:


As I led my squalling babies out of the exam room and down the hall toward the exit ("Don't like it! Don't like it!" screamed Max), we managed to terrify several children waiting for their own appointments. I tried to joke with the receptionist at the exit desk about how she would be glad to get a little quiet after the G. family left the office, and she looked at me without even cracking a smile and said that I owed a twenty dollar co-pay. Nice.

The boys quieted down once we were in the car and I even stopped to get Max a smoothie as a special treat on the way home. Sadly, most of the smoothie ended up all over his belly and his carseat. Another note to self-- 2-year-olds are not old enough to coordinate their own plastic cup and straw frozen beverages while in a moving vehicle.

For those who are interested in the statistical breakdown of the appointment, Max weighed 30lbs, 8 ounces (75th percentile) and was 35 1/4 inches tall (75th percentile). Henry, a.k.a Hank the Hulk, was 15 lbs, 7 ounces (75th percentile) and 26 inches (90th percentile).

I can't wait for our next appointment in two months when both boys are scheduled for the flu shot...