I avoid doctors like the plague. Ok, maybe if I had the plague, I'd go see one. But any aches, pains, sniffles, whatever, I self medicate. Doctors make me nervous, always have. I've done my best to keep a postive light on visits to the pediactrics for the little one's sake. I don't want him to grow up like his momma.
So, today was the rugrat's 4 year well-child visit. I explained it all to him yesterday, they'd check his height and weight, check him out, and ask him questions. I avoided mentioning the shots, knowing he would fight getting out of the car, scream and kick, if he only knew what awaited him.
Upon checking in, they took us right back. We never even sat down in the waiting room, which never happens, but than again they scheduled our appointment for before the crack of dawn. Maybe at that point they were still on schedule.
Little man managed to embarass me and the hubby as the doctor asked if he was potty trained. He proudly stated yes, but continued on saying "I wear pull-ups at night. I used to wear diapers, buy my mommy refused to spend money on them anymore. So now I wear pull-up." Ugh..bowing my head in shame.
GM was a crack up the whole time, telling all sorts of stories. The doctor was impressed with his verbal skills and said he had made her morning with his tales. Did ya'll know he was a spider trainer? He trains them not to bite people.
As she leaves, she says the nurse will be right in for the shots. Yes, she used the word shot, not vaccine, not s-h-o-t, she used the forbidden word. GM looks up quietly from my lap, and gasps, "Shots, mommy?"
So the nurse is not right in, 40 minutes later she strolls in and announces to my 4-year-old that he'll only be getting 3 shots, and mommy will have to hold him down. Come on lady, be a little more obvious that the next five minutes will suck, thanks. They certainly did, he screamed and bawled, and broke my heart, as I tried to keep him still. After shot number one, my fingers gripping his arm, he starts yelling "EXCUSE ME, EXCUSE ME," to the nurse. Mr. Polite even through the pain. When she finally responsed, he says "No more shots, please. Please, no more." At that point, I had tears in my eyes too. The poor kid was trying so hard to get us to stop, and all I could do was tell him it'd be over soon.
The stickers at the front dresk soothed away a few of the tears, and within the the hour I though all was forgotten. Until he quietly asked, "why did that lady give me shots? I didn't like that at all." My poor baby!