Days You Could Just Scream

Our Father's Day weekend started off with a thud. On Friday, Second Darling got really sick. I had an appointment for 3:30pm. Around 2pm, she got really sick, really quick. She's been having "tummy" issues, and this was just really bad, with a fever of 103 that came on so quickly. I didn't want to wait until 3:30 because of course, I thought something was really wrong.

We picked up Darling Grandmom, (who always rides shotgun) and flew down the expressway to Darling Man's hospital. The hospital has an Express Clinic. Silly me, I thought that meant fast. I didn't think we were in need of the emergency room yet, but I figured if it was her appendix, we could just be moved into the ER which was all at the same location.

By the time we arrive at the hospital, Second Darling is yacking and can barely walk. Darling Man meets us downstairs to walk us to the Express Clinic. I send Darling Grandmom, with the minivan and other Darlings, back home to wait. I figured after we're seen, we can just wait until Darling Man is finished for the day and then ride home with him.

We sign-in and I send Darling Man back to work while we wait to be seen. We sit there with the unwashed masses, and I'm thinking "any minute they'll call us." Well, they called us, after an hour, to fill out the paperwork. The wait to see the doctor would be short, about three hours. Whaaatttt????? Darling Man was there when I heard this and stepped between me and the woman who was growing into her office chair. "I thought this was supposed to be E-X-P-R-E-S-S" I growled. Darling Man informed me it was express - a three to six hour wait to see a doctor is express compared to waiting twenty (yes, 2-0) hours in the emergency room for non-life-threatening situations.

I came here because I thought she'd be seen quicker, and now I'm being told that I gave up a perfectly good appointment to sit and wait three to six hours to see someone? I could feel my vein bulging in my forehead. I was so mad, and only at myself. Darling Man gingerly said "I wondered why you came here." I had nothing to say.

A bit of my grandmother reared up in me and almost jumped on the counter, refusing to wait, demanding to see the doctor, but I controlled myself. Darling Man offered his truck to me to take Second Darling to the Texas MedClinic. Okay. We walked downstairs with Darling Man (and his bad back) carrying Second Darling. We're on our way out the electric doors when he asks if I have keys to his truck. Nope. Tantrum number two is on its way.

He gets us settled into his truck because his truck is so old that it's easy to break into it - we do it all the time, sick kid and all, and then runs up six flights of stairs (with his tweaked back) to get his keys. Second Darling is literally begging to go home. I feel like, well, crap, (the only word I can think of to use). How could I have made such a stupid mistake? I'm talking to Sick Darling, when Darling Man runs up on the drivers side like a car jacker. He's lucky I don't carry a gun - yet. I turn the truck on, give him a quick and curt smooch, and as I pull out of the parking spot, he says "don't forget you have to pump the clutch sometimes." Okay, whatever.

Well, we get out of the parking lot, and onto the main thoroughfare when the clutch refuses to work. I'm "pumping" like a crazy person, praying out loud, which is freaking out Sick Darling. Traffic in late afternoon in the medical center is crazy. I'm pulling my shoulder muscles trying to jam the stick shift into gear, to no avail. After a few thousands pumps, (and waving angry med students around us), the truck lurched into first gear. Okay, just get back to the hospital. Well, of course we hit the first red light we come upon. Once again, no clutch. Aaaaagggggghhhhhhh!
Once again, I randomly get it back into first gear and limp the whole way to the gas station at the end of the block. We'll just call Darling Man. I can smell the burning clutch.

Not so fast, smarty pants. Where's the cell phone? Aaagggghhhhh! Okay, I'll go into the gas station, buy a much needed Diet Coke and get some cash back so I can use the cootie-fied public phone. I take Sick Darling in the gas station with me. It's so crammed with stuff that it's oppressive. Sick Darling is begging to sit down. Not on this floor! I get a bottle of soda, hand Habeeb my check card, and ask for $5 cash back, with at least four quarters. "Sorry - no cash back here." Aaaaagggghhhhhhhhhhhhhhh! Are you freak'n kidding me? So, I paid $1.50 on my check card for a soda, and nothing else.

Sick Darling is looking horrible. I see an office building across a busy street. I used to see an obstetrician there, so I thought I could use his phone and keep Sick Darling in an air conditioned area. This whole time I'm praying that she's not on the verge of rupturing her appendix. As we're standing at the crossing lights, waiting, and waiting, and waiting, and waiting for the lights to change, I hear my phone ringing. I know it's not in my purse, but where is it? I checked the vomit bucket we'd been carrying around, but nope, not there either. It was in my pocket.

I told Darling Man what happened and where we were. He instructed us to sit tight and he'd be there in a minute. Now I'm encouraging Sick Darling, "Just hold on, Daddy's on his way." She's still begging to go home. By now I'm sweaty, stinky, and totally exasperated, all while trying to put a good spin on it for Sick Darling.

One of Darling Man's friends brought him to us, and we slid over in his micro-truck, and he drove us effortlessly to the Texas MedClinic. After this driving fiasco, I think my right arm is now slightly more muscular than the left, just from trying to shift gears.

We get to the MedClinic, we're seen in about twenty minutes. Of course, by now, it's 5:30pm - two hour after my originally scheduled doctor's appointment that I'm kicking myself for canceling.

The doctor diagnoses Sick Darling with a stomach virus within two seconds of seeing her, and prescribes a shot of something for nausea. Forget trying to spell the name of it. Within about ten minutes of the shot, she's asleep on the exam table. As Darling Man carries his sleeping Darling to the truck, the doctor reminds us that this stomach virus is particularly contagious, so expect everyone else to get it too. Aaaaaggggghhhhhhh!!!!!!!!!!

By the way, after all of this I felt so grimy, so gross and so utterly unable to make good decisions. I so totally questioned what has happened to me. I used to be smart enough to work with millions of dollars of the government's money, and now I can't even make logical decisions when it comes to going to a doctor's appointment. Well, I am just now climbing out of the abyss of my identity crisis and I'm now deciding that it was just a particularly crappy, crappy day.

Thank God, He gives us new days.

PS: Little man started hurling at 1am that night, but brother and sister are almost back to normal now, and thankfully nobody else seems to be getting it.