Any-Mom » Three Shots and a Cup

Three Shots and a Cup

10.22.2008 | Author: OrganizerMom | Posted in The Years Slide By

My son had his 5-year-old wellness visit today (they aren’t called check-ups anymore!). A nurse called yesterday to confirm the appointment and inform me that I’d be charged a $40 fee if I did not show up. “And bring a first morning urine sample,” she added before hanging up.

Huh? A first morning urine sample? I’m pretty sure my son is not pregnant or ovulating. Those are the only reasons I know of to test first morning urine. I figure she must have us confused with the knocked-up teenager down the street. I decide to just ignore it. But then I start worrying about it. What if she really does need us to bring in some urine? What could she need it for? And how am I going to get it? I decide to call.

“It’s just to test blood sugar levels and…” She rattles off a list of other things I don’t catch. “But it’s completely optional,” she says. “So if you don’t want to do it you don’t have to.”

I hesitate. Of course I don’t want to collect my son’s pee. What would I put it in? A sippy cup? But then I think, what if I don’t get this test and something turns out to be horribly wrong with him. And he gets really sick and the situation turns grave and it could have been prevented if I had just sucked it up and nabbed some pee. So I say, “Well, what would I put it in?” She says any container will do: yogurt, plastic cup, even a plastic sandwich bag.

That night, we have fajitas and we just happen to finish off the container of sour cream. Perfect! It even has a lid. I wash it out and put it in the bathroom. I tell my son, “Tomorrow morning when you wake up, I want you to pee in this cup.” He thinks this is hilarious. “Pee in a cup?” he says, with an incredulous look in his face. “That’s right, babycakes,” I respond.

The next morning he wakes up and stumbles into the bathroom and cuts loose with a gush of pee into the toilet. I race down the hall and grab the sour cream container and hold it in the stream. “Oh no,” he says. “Not this.” I gather about an inch of pee and then pop the top on. “Good peeing,” I say.

At the doctor’s we hand over the pee to the nurse, who is impressed that I got a urine sample from a 5-year-old boy. But before I can question this, she rushes my son onto the scale to check his weight, measures his height, and gives an eye test. Then she ushers us into an exam room where she checks blood pressure and hearing. He passes everything with flying colors. Then she bustles off, telling my son to strip down to his underwear. I try to get him to sit on my lap and snuggle with me so I could warm him up like I used to do when he was smaller, but no go. He stays on the exam table.

We wait for the doctor. And wait. And wait. My son passes the time playing with his penis. He pulls it out the front opening of his Shrek underwear, so that his penis is coming out of Shrek’s face. He waves it at me and then pokes it back in and pulls it out the top of his underwear. “See,” he says, “I can pull it out here or here.” I roll my eyes. “Why don’t we talk about school?” I suggest. He likes this idea so we talk about his music class and then we sing all the songs he is currently learning. This takes up about 5 or 10 more minutes and still no doctor. Finally, we tire of singing and lapse into silence. He asks for his new Leapster and starts messing around with that and I root in my purse for my To-Do List du jour. That’s when the doctor comes in, probably thinking that I should be interacting with my child instead of sitting like a lump. Oh well, at least she didn’t come in when he had his penis sticking out of Shrek’s nose.

I really like this doctor. She’s been seeing my son since he was a baby and she is very calm and gentle. She looks at his spine, legs, arms, eyes, nose, ears, mouth. She did not examine his penis or scrotum this time, as she has done in the past. Maybe her hidden cameras picked up his little show earlier. Then she has my son hop on one foot, then the other, then walk on his toes, then on his heels. “He’s doing great,” she says. “What else can I do for you this visit?” I love when she asks this question. It’s so open-ended, it just invites an anxious mom to spill her guts and pepper the doc with queries. I ask about vitamins and a flu shot. She recommends both, then adds that he also needs his MMR and Varicella shots. I find out that MMR is measles, mumps, and rubella and Varicella is chicken pox. So that’s 3 shots for my brave little soldier.

The doctor leaves and we wait a long time for the nurse to come back in. We spend the time playing a game where I try to grab and kiss him and he jumps just out of reach. He loves this game and screeches with laughter. I get tired of it sooner than him (go figure), plus I really want to hug and kiss him so I break the rules and leap out of my seat to grab him. I plant a few good ones on his head before he sinks to the ground and says dramatically, “Oh my gosh, you winned.” Just then the nurse comes in and tells us that the fun is over. My son gets on my lap and I hold his arms so he can’t grab the needle. He gets 3 shots and watches each one go in. I tell him not to look. His face clenches up tight as he tries not to cry, but tears overwhelm him and stream down his face. He gets 3 colorful band-aids and I put his shirt back on and then my sweet growing-up-too-fast little boy snuggles in my lap and I hug and kiss him. After a few minutes, he starts to recover and sit up straight. “Boy, that really hurt, huh?” I ask. He bursts into tears again and I say, “Yeah, that was really scary. Let mommy hold you a little more.” So I get a few more minutes of snuggle time.

And you know what? I don’t feel the least bit guilty about it. In fact, I’m thinking of scheduling another doctor’s visit next week. I’ll even collect more pee.