Before Full Speed is allowed to have his eye surgeries, he has to have a regular check-up. There is a huge amount of planning and coordinating to make sure he has this check-up before his preoperative appointment (which is something different according to his ophthalmologist’s instruction and oddly similar to a check-up) yet still falls within a week of his actual surgery date. The surgery itself is quite a feat to schedule as well. We had to align the schedules of our primary ophthalmologist with that of a retinal specialist who would be making in a special trip to participate in the surgery. With all of this, we have to make sure that T.Puzzle is adequately taken care of while we are running his older brother back and forth to pre-surgery appointments, the actual surgeries and all the subsequent follow-up visits. It’s a heavily populated calendar we have before us but miraculously, we are making it work.
Like I said, our first stop on this harrowing journey is Full Speed’s check-up. T.Puzzle was going to Grandma and Grandpa’s for the evening and sleeping over. That way, I would only have Full Speed to deal with at this initial appointment and T.Puzzle would be cared for the following day. This is when Full Speed and I headed to the Children’s Clinic for his 8am preoperative rendezvous with the good doctor. Our doctor kicks butt by the way.
I’m trying to set the stage here. I want you, my dear reader (and thank you for your continued interest and support), to understand the complexity of the scheduling situation. This way you will have full appreciation for what happened next.
Full Speed and I were seated in one of the rooms waiting for the pediatrician. The nurse came in and Full Speed was his usual self, very serious and business-like. He followed her directions with a literal accuracy only someone like he can and everything was status quo.
Then it was time for the temperature portion of the check-up. The nurse pops the thermometer in his ear, it beeps and she quickly removes it with a flick of her wrist. Full Speed lets out a little, “Ouch!” Then he says, “That hurt!”
The nurse glances down at the thermometer in her hand and says disbelievingly, “He has a temp. of 101.1.”
“Are you freakin’ kidding me? That is insane! Maybe you need the eye surgery, check it again, lady (don’t get me wrong, the nurse was nice, I couldn’t see that in the middle of my freak-out)! How could this happen? Why did this happen? Why does the world hate me?” is what I thought silently to myself.
Instead, what I said out loud was, “Didn’t see that coming. What do we do next?”
The nurse said, “Wait for the doctor and see what she says.”
I didn’t have a good feeling about this. I turned to face Full Speed.
“Does your ear hurt?” I asked still unwilling to believe he was sick.
“Yeah, a little,” he said quite matter of factly like it was no big deal. Like it’s the same as wearing striped socks or breathing. Illness and pain do not slow Full Speed down. His ear hurt, so what?
I was astounded that he had given no one any indication he was feeling under-the-weather. His teachers at school said he had a great day; he was in a fine mood when I picked him up and we even played a raucous game of Transformers in the waiting room before seeing the nurse and doctor.
The long and the short of it is his surgery is indefinitely postponed and while the very future of the clarity of his vision hangs in the balance (I get that I can be a bit of a drama queen but I’m not exaggerating unfortunately); all we can do is wait.
I’ll admit, when the doctor was writing the ‘script for Full Speed’s antibiotic, I wished she could have written me one for Atavan or Valium or whatever pill there is that could help me feel like I wasn’t losing my mind. Instead, I thanked my lucky stars that Full Speed is such a strong little guy. When he finally does have these surgeries, he’s going to kick butt, too. He may even wear striped socks to boot.