Excuse me while I rant. This isn’t just a rant, this is a Rantasaurus Rex.
I’ve been taking my kids to the same Children’s Medical place since we arrived in the States. I REALLY like the doctors. But the nurses are horrid. Last year I took Siggy in for one illness or another. He was going through a little panic-phase so I wasn’t super-stoked about taking him in. But he had a fever and bla bla bla.
So we got The Nurse. She is young. Under 25. And you could tell by looking at her face that she loathed having to deal with children.
Dude, I get it! I don’t like kids either. AND THAT’S WHY I’M NOT A NURSE IN A PEDIATRICIANS OFFICE.
It was cold in there and Siggy was already a little shaky. I knew by the time we got to the scale, that he was going to lose it if I tried to put him down.
She wanted to bludgeon me with her clip-board.
It wasn’t so much that she was all about procedure, she was just going to show this little brat that he needed to grow up right then and there.
And so she clamped down on him and forced him to sit on that scale.
I was shocked at the sheer anger on her face. It would have been different if she was some old squishy granny nurse who was all…
But she wasn’t. She was physically taking out her frustrations on a kid.
Aaaaaand then he started flipping out…..
…which led to the yakking…..
You have never seen a nurse angrier than she was right then.
But she wasn’t nearly as angry as I was….
So then yesterday Siegfried woke up with a fever and lots of crying. I got him in to the doctor as soon as I could. Took him in his jammies with a big fat blanky.
Which is not a good sign if you’re hoping to avoid barf.
Anyway, they called us back and we sat in the tiny waiting room.
And sure enough, during the 47 million years that we had to wait, Siggy puked.
All. Over. The. Place.
I finally got him to the trash can and then set him up against the wall while I went all nuts with the paper-towels. Scrubbed everything down.
And finally the doctor came in, figured out his problem, etc etc. She saw his nasty blanky on the floor, drenched in yak, and said she would have the nurse bring me a trash bag to carry it out in.
We waited for another 47 million years and the new nurse finally showed up with a tiny little doggy-poop bag.
She left again, and when Siggy finally turned 5 she came back. With nothing.
Her passive-aggressive apathy was enough to make me break out in hives.
Really girlfriend? You made it through nursing school but you can’t figure out how to acquire a trash bag in an office that produces an awful lot of waste?