The Average Blogger

Busting Your Chops

 

So, the Young Prince finally did it. After years of watching him climb wobbly shelves, get into precarious positions splayed between chairs and tables, and try to hit lightswitches just out of his reach on stairwells, the kid finally splattered.

I admit, I always stood by and watched him do those things sort of hoping he'd fall and get just hurt enough to learn his lesson. And you know, he never did. I'd say, "Be careful, you could fall and get hurt," and he'd shift his balance or pirouette or do some other gymnastic move and leap lightly away from whatever spot he was in and land on his feet. 

Apparently grammar school has atrophied this skill.

So yesterday he was in science class. They were cleaning up, and it sounds like up to that point it had been a pretty good day. But he started horsing around, using two desks as parallel bars. I guess his elbows gave out or something, and he face-planted onto the floor.

I was training on a night shift when Not Your Average Blogger came over and motioned me into my office to tell me the principal had called and the YP has busted his lip. The principal also said it looked like the kid needed a stitch, so NYAB was heading out to get him.

I thought it might be better to get him out of school faster, and since NeighborGirl is home from college, and was planning to babysit him for a couple hours anyway, I called her and asked if she'd go get him. She said sure, so I told NYAB he could meet them at home instead of at school, and then called the principal back to tell her someone else was picking up the kid.

According to the principal, he was very upset that I'd be angry.  The kid said later that he was upset that I'd think he was ugly. I was admittedly pleased at the former and dismayed by the latter.

NeighborGirl said the school ladies were all very nice, but kind of funny. "Don't look at him," they said. "It's gruesome. And if you see him, don't freak out and react about the gore, he'll just get upset."

NeighborGirl is a total trooper. She thinks stuff like that is kind of cool. We love NeighborGirl.

So she called me when she got him home and said it was pretty gross, but he seemed to be doing OK and she'd hang out for whatever came next. She put him on the phone and he said he'd learned not to do that anymore, and to listen when people told him to stop doing similar things. Then he put NG back on the phone. I told her to drop me an email when NYAB got there to tell me what was going on -- since he is so good about keeping me me informed on such matters -- and that if the YP wanted her to go to the ER with them and she wasn't busy, that'd be nice. 

Then I went back to work.  I felt moderately guilty, but the truth is I probably was more useful in the office than I would have been in this situation. I don't know.

NeighborGirl emailed an hour later to say the boys were en route to the ER, and that they'd all agreed she didn't need to go.

Forty minutes after that, NYAB emailed to tell me they were waiting for attention at the ER.

And then to tell me the kid got stitches, though no amount of asking got him to tell me how many.

And then to tell me they got a prescription and a popsicle.

And then to tell me the kid barfed in the car.

And then to say they were home.

And then to say the YP's teacher called to see how he was doing. How cool is that? (And to say she'd warned him not to swing on desks. Heh. She's awesome.)

He called after that and I talked to the kid again, who didn't sound nearly as energetic or happy as when I'd talked to him before the hospital. I also was referred to Facebook to find out there had been four stitches.  Ah, the modern age.

When I got home, 3 hours later, the rest of the story trickled out. The first version was "Same as last trip, but no Greek stories." Then I heard more. Apparently the kid got so worked up about doctors fussing with his face that they had to try twice -- letting him calm down the first time and then strapping him to the bed for Round Two.  NYAB said it was pretty amazing -- there was absolutely nobody home in that little savage animal brain of his.

 

All I can say is, if he's going to keep getting hurt like this, he'd better grow up about getting himself fixed.

But hey, chicks dig scars.  And the YP himself apparently concluded in the ER that, "You know, if the scar is too bad, I can just grow a moustache and beard like you, Dad." 

Today he's back to his bouncy self. I'm still sort of wondering what to do about him worrying that I'd think he was ugly, but we'll get over that, I suppose. The YP probably already is. Maybe. I hope.  Almost as much as I hope he actually, you know, learned something.  Though my breath, it is not being held.

For the Girls: That Was It? Really? I'm Done?

**DISCLAIMER: This is strictly a chickie post -- no kid anecdotes, no car chases, no sports, no explosions. Just girly doctory icky stuff.**

So, trala. I'm now an alumna of the mammogram school of whateverness. And when I say "whateverness" that is exactly what I mean, because I went into the whole matter with some measure of trepidation and came out going, "Huh. Whatever."

See, I'm not a pain person. I think I probably have an average threshold. I don't shriek with agony and crumple into a ball of whimpering jelly if I get hit in the shin with a baseball, but I don't like it much.  Conversely, I'm not the sort who can go for days with a sprained ankle and be all, "Huh. My ankle's purple. Think that's a bad thing? Wait, let me run this marathon before you answer."

So when I asked around, I got a variety of answers. The feel-no-painers were all, "eh."  The doomsayers were all, "IT IS HORRIBLE. DEFINITELY INVENTED BY A MAN. BE PREPARED TO DRINK HEAVILY AND TAKE VICODIN AFTERWARD."  The thing that was weird to me was that there was only one sort of middle-road response, a la, "Well, I wouldn't go get one for fun, but it wasn't any worse than other unpleasant doctory intrusiveness I've had done."

But that last appraisal? That's where I landed. So for all you mammovirgins, here's what happened to me and here's what I learned, for whatever help it's worth.

** One of the things the little info packets tell you to do is schedule the appointment pretty close to the end of your period, since apparently you're less puffy or something and it won't hurt as much. They also say to knock off caffeine for a few days before as that also reduces sensitivity. I did both these things, but since I have nothing to compare it with I am not sure how effective these measures were. I can't imagine that having coffee was going to significantly affect the pain quotient by that much. It might, however, keep you stressy, which I can definitively say is a factor.

** They also tell you not to wear deodorant or powder or anything. I guess this smudges the glass? I don't know. But if you're a nervous sweaty sort like me? Take some in your purse for afterward, and  also make sure you get to the doc's office early enough to use the ladies' room so as to scrub up before and avoid horrifying the poor tech.

Once I was signed in, I was given a wristband, which freaked me out a little, until foodie staffer emailed back to remind me that they do that pretty much every time you have to strip down for something. La for her, 3 minutes later I was in a front-tie smock that was about as gappy and revealing as you would expect a front-tie smock to be.

So then the tech (who introduced herself as Kathy! -- which is probably a joke that only people who lived in Florida during a certain Bush gubernatorial campaign will find funny,)  ushers me into a room with this big ol'  X-ray machine.  Kathy! was incredibly nice and chatty and explainy and  clearly  deals with a lot of self-conscious chicks because I was hyper-aware that she kept looking me in the eye and nodding and talking about "How did you get your name?" and "You should have been here last month, I was so disappointed when it was time to take down the Christmas tree we had in here," and so on. 

So I ask Kathy! why painkillers aren't part of the info packet explainer and option thingy. And she looks a little surprised and says, "Well, it's over pretty quick. But we do tell people that if it's really excruciating, there's nothing wrong with taking aspirin or some other pain reliever next time they come in." Who knew?

**  If my experience is any indication, you get to call the shots on how squished you get.

Basically, they take 4 X-rays, two top-bottom and two sideways.

For the top-bottom, you have to stand in a weird stretched out stance with your toes turned one way and your hips turned slightly the other way and your arm up on a bar and your chin stretched out like a turtle. The  tech flumps the bit being x-rayed on to a padded glass plate thingie and then pushes a button so another glass plate thingie bears down and does the compressing. The tech compresses til you holler uncle, and then you stand there like that for about 15 seconds while she punches another button and the machine goes "Bzzzz-kerchunk!" Then the top glass plate automatically releases and you can step back. And it doesn't keep hurting, it stops as soon as the thing lets up.

For the sideways, you  stand more or less straight, but with your arm sort of curved in front of you and your chin stretched up toward the ceiling. The tech sort of assists you in defying gravity til the glass plate makes contact, then it's the up-down thing all over again. Squish til you say ow, 15 seconds of bzz-kerchunk, and poof.

** If you can manage to relax, it hurts even less than the "hey! that didn't hurt as much as when the doctor shoves fingers up me for that other exam!" pain that happens if you are tense.

By the time we got to the 4th x-ray, I was untensed enough that she stopped the machine before I was at the "OK, stop now!" point. For what that's worth. 

Kathy! also told me a story about how she used to have a person come who every year was just incredibly tense about it, until it was suggested that she come in later in the evening, after dinner, maybe with a glass of wine, so she'd be more relaxed.  Apparently, homegirl came in sloshed and all, "Do whatever you want!!"  Kathy! said that wasn't really what she'd recommend generally, but that they did get some very good and clear pictures.  Heh.

Once they're done with the picture-taking, you have to sit around for about 5 minutes while they look at the x-rays to make sure the film didn't streak or anything and that they can send them off to the radiologist farm for Actual Medical perusal and analysis. Which is nice, because that means that if something techy did get screwed up, you can take them again immediately rather than having to come back a week later.

So there you have it.  Go when you're starting your birth control pills for the month, get drunk, wash on arrival, and chill out!  Piece of pie! Easy as cake!

On the other hand, I'm also on board with the other part of what the person above stated -- I won't be going back before I have to. In four years, thank you very much.