The Perfect Place to Show off Inept Parenting? The Doctor's Office

If you ever want to feel inept as a parent just take your kids to the doctor's office.  The doctor's interrogation -- I mean questions -- are quick to reveal what a negligent, inadequate and careless parent you are.  Or at least it will make you feel that way.

Can You Repeat the Question?

When I was about nine years old, I was sitting on the living room floor with my dog Buddy watching television.  Buddy was a black Lab and terrier mix.  He must have had a sore ear that night as we watched television because when I rubbed his head, he yelped, turned quickly -- and bit my face.

It wasn't a Cujo, horror film kind of bite.  He snapped at me and because we were sitting so close, one of his sharp teeth went right through the skin under my bottom lip.  Clean through. A nice bloody mess.  You could've stuck a straw through the skin to my teeth.

My father got the unenviable task of taking me to the Greenville Hospital emergency room alone.  Standing at the counter, talking to the nurse who was filling out the paperwork, poor Dad almost got stumped on the third question.  "Patient's name?" she asked.  Got it.  "Address?" OK.  "Birth date?" ... "Uhm," said my Dad as he turned and looked down toward me.  "What's your birthday?"

We got through that and when they told us it could be a long wait (someone came in right before us with 21 stab wounds -- that's a whole lot of stitches), Dad decided my cut didn't look that bad.  We could always come back in the morning.

It's funny the things you remember.  The truth is medical interrogations bring out the worst in any parent.  You feel like you are on trial, facing a cross examination from a mix of the SuperNanny, Judge Judy and Alicia Florrick from The Good Wife.

The Inquisition

Flash forward to my own recent parenting gem in the doctor's office.

I know my kids' birthdays -- or at least I have them readily available in my smart phone so I can avoid such scarring moments for my own kids (just kidding, Dad).

I took Emma and Will to the doctor recently during the height of this winter's germ scourge. Their school friends were dropping like flies, and they soon succumbed to the bug.

As we sat in the exam room, I first had to face the nurse and explain why we were there.

"Will has been home with a sore throat and a bit of fever this week, and Emma woke up today with a 102 fever, glazed eyes and sore throat," I explained.

"Are you really this child's father? 

"Well, her temperature is perfect now.  98.6," said the nurse, brandishing a temporal scanning thermometer that looked like something Dr. Bones used on Star Trek. How could that be? How did she not have a fever?  Betrayed!

Truth was I hadn't even checked her temperature since that morning.  Once her mother decided she could stay home from school, the battle was lost. Why would I take her temperature again.  My orders were simple: "Keep them alive.  Get them to the doctor.  Pick up their medicine."

The doctor came in a bit later and had questions of her own.  No problem. I had this figured out now. I wouldn't look like "inept, know nothing" dad.  I would look like nurturing, "father knows best" dad. I wanted my kids to be strong and independent -- they could answer the questions themselves.

"Go ahead, Will.  Tell the doctor how you're feeling," I said.  Will did a nice job in his sad, soft-spoken voice, describing his sore throat when he swallowed.

I played the supportive dad, helping him out a bit, sharing what I knew about his allergies and asthma.  Whew.  Not bad.

Then came more questions.  This doctor was RELENTLESS!  Is this the Inquisition?

"What did you have for breakfast, Will?"  Oh, crap.

"I had Cheerios and chocolate milk," he said.  Not exactly high-protein eggs, nutritious oatmeal and orange juice, but hey it was better than the cinnamon buns his mother usually gave him.

We got our orders, and the doctor was actually very nice. She spoke to me very slowly when she gave me instructions, wrote it down for me, and didn't give me any stern, disapproving stares.

Full Circle

Bringing things full circle, my dad recently accompanied me on a trip to the Urgent Care with Will. My dad didn't want to go, but my mother made him. Maybe he was scarred by the trip to Greenville Hospital for the dog bite, too, and he didn't want to be questioned about his grandson. He probably doesn't know his birthday either -- and he doesn't have a smart phone.

Will was under the weather.  Poor little guy had strep.  As we sat in the waiting room, my dad fell asleep in the chair before we even saw the doctor. With age comes some privileges. He never had to answer a single question.