A doctor checkup during pandemic is hardly routine
I’ve never been more delighted to have my child pumped full of prescribed diseases and chemicals than I was last week when Leo attended his 18month checkup and received his scheduled vaccinations. We have been sheltering in place for so long that a needlefilled trip to the pediatrician is an exciting breath of literal fresh air, even if the experience was downright bizarre.
Most children’s doctor appointments come with all sorts of forms one has to fill out in advance. Every six months, I must answer dozens of questions about Leo’s development: Can he throw a ball, how many words can he speak, can he stack blocks? But now, COVID19 has further complicated the already convoluted system of the modernday pediatric checkup.
According to Leo’s doctor, and any doctor who knows what they’re doing, young children should maintain their vaccination schedule despite the global pandemic. Not only that, but the 18month checkup is an important one, as Leo’s development will be particularly scrutinized. He should have a number of skills by now and if he’s behind on anything, early intervention is key. Plus, we get to go somewhere! A series of very stoic emails and texts instructed us of the new doctor’s office procedures, including a warning that only one caregiver was allowed in the appointment, and I’d have to be masked. Fine with me. Let’s do this. The first change to the usual checkup routine was all of the serious signage outside the doctor’s office. Patients can’t even open the door. We had to knock and wait several minutes before we were permitted to have our temperature taken. Once our 97degree bodies were allowed inside, formalities were kept to a minimum. Was our insurance the same? Yep? You sure? Great. Don’t come near us.
Leo and I were ushered straight to an exam room and assured no one had used it for four hours. I didn’t know what we were supposed to do with that information, but I assumed it was provided to make me feel safe.
Next, I was given bits of random information about other people. For example, only one child with cold symptoms had entered the office that day, and he was in a different exam room. This felt like none of my business and honestly, I didn’t care. Those in charge know better than me. I listen to experts.
Throughout this very important appointment, Leo did what most children do when their parents want them to show off select skills; he refused to perform. Can you show the doctor your nose? Can you pick up the ball? Can you say any one of the 23 words I’ve cataloged? Nope? You sure? Great.
Perhaps it was his blowing of kisses that got Leo a big pass on the 18month checkup.
“His development is really great for his gender,” the doctor announced.
“But he only has 20 words,” I protested.
“Like I said,” she added with a smile. “He’s doing great for his gender.”
Delighted with medical confirmation that women are smarter, we headed home. Leo’s reward for taking needles to the thigh was a romp in our small backyard. I took a work call while Leo performed a myriad of advanced skills for absolutely no one but the sunshine.
In the middle of my call, I looked over to see Leo chewing on a plant.
“Take that out of your mouth,” I demanded.
Leo pulled the plant from his mouth and looked at me. Then he put it back in his mouth.
“Leonardo,” I said with my firm mom voice. “Do not eat that.”
My coworker was curious what Leo was eating. “Just a succulent,” I replied.
His response was quick.
“Aren’t those poisonous?”
Ten minutes later, I was on the phone with California Poison Control. I’d already used a plant identification app to obtain the Latin name of what is commonly known as a “jellybean plant.” The app said the plant was toxic to dogs and cats. It provided no information on whether it killed toddlers.
I reported my findings to the world’s most patient poison expert who asked me a series of questions. Was Leo throwing up? Was Leo acting weird? Was Leo unconscious? Nope? You’re sure? Great. He’s probably fine.
“Thank you,” I gushed. “Now is not a good time to take a kid to the emergency room.”
The poison genius offered a wise suggestion. “Just try not to let him eat any more garden plants.”
Can I do that? Yep? You’re sure? Great.
Perhaps it was his blowing of kisses that got Leo a big pass on the 18month checkup.