I hate clinic days.
I Hate them.
Every. single. minute. of. them.
There's no way to describe this experience, unless you've gone through it. It's a combination of the lines at the DMV, back to back root canals, public humiliation, and waiting for paint to dry. Add to the mix, of course, a small infant who's tired, in pain, scared, and looking to you for comfort and security. And instead of providing him with that, you know that you get to put him in a situation where he is stuck with needles to drain him of blood, stripped naked, hooked up to strange machines, forced to have sticky tabs put on him then ripped off. Oh, and we get to come again every month. Hurray!
If I knew for sure there was a clear cut procedure, certainty, some sense of order or organization - maybe I could be less tense. But that's the thing - there is none of that at work. You just never know what to expect when you walk in. You may have some tests done, or not. You may wait for one hour, or two or three..or they may forget that you are out there waiting at all. You may be the first one called for a procedure, or not. You may have a dozen people who signed in after you get called first. You may watch while a 40 year old man strolls into the EKG room ahead of you, while you hold your crying baby who has been sitting there waiting for hours while you desperately try to come up with some new way of entertaining him. You may find out you have a regular $30 copay, or you may find out you owe $1,200 from procedures months ago that have only just been discovered. It's all a strange and exciting lottery, my friend. Hurray!
Today was yet another banner day at clinic. The good news is that Jordan has gained back a little of the weight that he mysteriously lost last month. A little is better than nothing, and he's getting taller as well. Good things. And he's alive.
That puts it all in perspective.