Calling Dr. House!

The Baby has been running a fairly high temp for the past 3 days. The Punk called the doctor and they couldn’t get her in until Thursday, so they said to take The Baby to Urgent Care in the hospital.

Typical answer.

We get to Urgent Care within a ½ hour of their opening at 2:00pm and began our wait. About 3:45pm they called us into the room. The nurse was really great and The Punk appreciated her help in trying to get The Baby to stop crying and whining. Her temp is 103.5 and she’s NOT her usual happy self.

The doctor gets in there and I swear to GAWD I have NEVER met a doctor like him. He walked in all slow and his posture reminded me of a cartoon character. You know the Turkey Buzzard that is embarrassed all the time… “Dum, de dum” THAT cartoon character.

He touches The Baby’s toe and she cries, so he touches my hand and her foot and my hand. The Baby can’t figure him out and quits crying for a minute. Hell, I can’t figure him out. Are they serious? This guy is REALLY the doctor and not some guy that is PRETENDING to be a doctor and really should be working in one of the rooms where I work?

So he checks her ears, then her throat and declares that there isn’t anything wrong with her. An alarm starts somewhere in the building and he tells us to hang on, he doesn’t think the patients have to do anything yet. He walks out in the hall.

Doctor: “What should we do with the patients? Should I be doing anything?”

Nurse: “Yes, go into your room and close the door”

Now while I’m thinking that Doctor Stupido just got slammed and it was funny, he DOESN’T come back into the room and shut the door.

The nurse comes in with some Tylenol, and gives it to The Punk to give to The Baby. The Punk and I then start talking about this doctor and I CALLED him Dr. Stupido out loud. Both The Punk and The Baby started to laugh which made ME laugh.

So when Dr. Stupido DOES come back in, we were tickled and couldn’t stop grinning.

Diagnosis?

Doctor: “I can’t find anything wrong with her, so I want you to go to the ER, they may have tests that they can do to see what’s going on with her”

*sigh* FINE then.

So off to the ER we go. Mind you, it’s hotter than hell itself out, so we are sucking down the AC in the car which I just HATE to do. But gotta keep The Baby comfortable.

At the ER, the Sherriff brought in some woman in handcuffs chained around her waist. For ½ hour we listened to her bitch and piss and moan about the cuffs being too tight, flirting outrageously with the Sherriff, and just be someone that should be seen by a shrink, not the ER. After enough bitching the Sherriff took the chain off her waist and cuffed her behind her back. We listened as she complained that they were too tight but he wasn’t listening. She actually pulled her hand out of the cuffs at one point to scratch her nose, and then continued asking about the Sherriff’s wife, telling him her measurements.

The Punk and I were struggling not to laugh at this poor guy’s predicament, but damn! The woman next to us wanted to know if he had something for her mouth. I was just worried that if she were mentally ill and unstable, she might go for the cops gun!

Finally got into a cubicle and we got to listen to the woman across the curtain yell for help, they were hurting her… this went on for a good hour or more, I can’t tell. The Baby cried on and off.

The Punk and I were tired, thirsty, and hungry by the time this NEXT doctor came in. He checked her ears and said that one of them was just starting to get a little pink and declared in no uncertain terms that she had an ear infection and needed antibiotics.

Fat Girl: “She would get a fever of 103.5, stop drinking, stop urinating, wake up in pain every 15-20 minutes, and be listless from a slight ear infection?”

Doctor: *pause* “Yes”

The Punk: “Even though she gets ear infections much worse than this and has NEVER ran a fever this high?”

Doctor: *pause, looks at me, looks at The Punk* “Yes, so have her take the antibiotics and follow up with her regular doctor, alternate the Tylenol and Motrin every 3 hours”

After he leaves I can tell that The Punk is ready to start breaking stuff. HOURS of waiting, trying to keep The Baby from crying and busy, and this is it?

Fat Girl: “Honey, it’s ok, even if it IS something worse, the antibiotics will take care of it, just watch her fever”

So needless to say, the poor baby is in the backseat again, sweating, but sleeping, there are antibiotics and Tylenol for the night and a couple of doctors that could use a foot up their butts.

I’m calling Dr. House!