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Ears and Tears

February 12, 2010

I dragged Queenie to the pediatrician yesterday. We had an appointment at 12pm sharp with the closet on our list of multilingual peds to get her ears checked again. Although she is showing no Queenie signs of an infection (not eating, not sleeping, being lethargic) she is scratching at them a lot. The other night she scratched so hard inside the ear canal that she started bleeding. Not an incredible amount of blood, but enough to make you wonder about the damage she did inside. This was probably Tuesday night. We watched her Wednesday and made an appointment on Thursday. After the one night of beautiful sleep through the night she woke up whining and pointing to her ears on Tuesday and Wednesday.

As we got ready, and hoped that the plumber finished with the shower soon so we wouldn’t be late, I told Queenie that we had to go to the doctor for her ears. She told me no. I told her yes, that we were going to meet and very nice doctor and that she was going to look into her ears. Queenie again told me no, but went running for her boots when I asked her to. Hmmmm. Just as we were about to be ready the plumber left, the chicken finished cooking and with everything in order we went out the door. Into the freezing cold. Into the snow. Only to find that the address we had was incorrect.

Without gloves or mittens on our hands (because why would I remember to get those? It’s only 30 degrees Farenheit outside and snowing….!) We search the street to see if perhaps if the 29 was a typo. Nope. Not at 19, not at 20 not at 18, not at 31, not at any darn address on the street. BUT if you need a lawyer apparently Rue Ozenne is the place to go in Toulouse….

I called Principe but he didn’t answer. I keep calling. All the way home. We stall at the market and buy bananas and yum-yums (aka clementines) but Principe still doesn’t answer. So we go home. Queenie starts to color, thinking her mommy was just joking about the ear thing and suddenly Principe calls. I tell him the news. He calls the doctor and calls me back with the right address and the info that the doctor is willing to stay late if we leave RIGHT NOW.

The only way to get Queenie back into her boots is by offering her chocolate covered toffee. And it works well.

The correct address is a bit farther than the other, but it is still very close and we make it (mommy huffing and puffing) within 7 minutes.

And then the fun began.

The doctor, who was very nice and spoke quite well in Spanish, wanted to do a full exam as Sofia is a new patient. Uh-oh. As each piece of clothing comes off more tears start to flow. There is no amount of hushing or soothing that I can do to make the tears stop. And once I place her on the table? Oh, boy. The screaming, the kicking, the punching the eyes rolling into the back of her head, the KICKING, the PUNCHING.

Al the while the doctor is speaking soothingly to her in French, but it doesn’t help. Queenie’s cries are made worse by the fact that the doctor has to practically sit on her to look into her ears, but this is Queenie’s fault. Not that she understands this…..

With the exam over I try to stop blushing at my child’s behavior long enough to clothe her. I try to show that I am a good mom by talking sweetly to her. The cries keep coming. I try to tell myself that surely half of these little patients do the same thing as Queenie….right?

Do you know how hard it is to get a sweater on a screaming toddler? So I leave it and looked rushed as the doctor tries to explain the medicine to me. Queenie has an infection and her entire head is swollen. She needs ear drops (awesome) and nose spray (even better) and cough syrup. Great. Then I try to leave without paying. With my toddler still half-way into her sweater. (In Spain you don’t pay up front. It’ s all through taxes. In France it is half and half). Wait, you have to pay, she tells me. 31 Euro please.

I think about explaining that in Spain you don’t pay in order to ease my embarrassment as I struggle with my wallet while giving Queenie’s arm a final push through the sweater arm, but remain in silence and fork over the cash. Here’s hoping the Pharmacy takes a credit card.

On the way home with all the medicine in hand I wonder about Queenie’s behavior and how to change it. I’m still not sure why she is so afraid of doctors all of a sudden. It gets worse every time we go, too. And I’m really not sure there is anything I can do to stop it.

2 Comments leave one →
  1. February 12, 2010 6:07 pm

    Oh my! I bought my eldest a doctor play set when she was younger and we had to go to the doctor. I showed her what everything was about and she went around for days listening to people’s hearts and trying to look into their ears and mouths. She was allowed to take it to the doctor’s and it got her used to the instruments and what they were for. Might be worth a try? X

    • wideopenworld permalink*
      February 15, 2010 6:34 pm

      What a good idea! Maybe that will be what Little N buys her for her big sister present! Thanks for that!

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