Is the Doctor In?

There is nothing worse than the 'doctor' being the patient. I'm a long stretch from being a doctor, but everyone thinks that if you know more than how to open an aspirin bottle, then you must be a doctor. Out here, they call the paramedics ditch doctors, which isn't too far from the truth. I started out the day looking like this. Just a tad tired and attempting to recover from a particularly long and draining shift. The ones that never allow for rest, let alone sleep.

By late afternoon, I was looking like this. Except I was green and not orange. After an evening of that, I finally broke down around 11p and called the station for the guys to come pick me up. When the legs are cramping, it is time to call in the experts for a bit of IV fluids. I had already passed out twice and hit my head and various other parts, so I figured it was time to seek professional help. Not that I'll find that in most EDs these days, but desperation calls for desperate measures.

I have great veins, but there is something about dehydration that tends to make them run for the hills, never to be seen again. Was starting to look like a porcupine before a line was started. All I wanted at that point was something to stop the nausea because everything I had tried to take at the house came back up. But a few bags of IV fluids later and some mind altering drugs, I finally made it home this morning for a nice nap until this evening. Time is certainly not being kind to me these days.

My daughter called and asked if I wanted her to come over to look after me. I'll take any excuse I can get to see her or the babies. They live 3.5 hours away and I miss them something awful some days. So she is on her way over with the youngest one. I better hurry up and get well before they get here if he is coming. The baby takes all of your parenting skills to handle. He has learned how to manipulate his parents very well and they do not have the patience to outlast him the way Grandma does.

For some reason, the child did not like his Grandma much during the first year. He tolerated me, but wasn't very thrilled to see me like the older ones were. All that changed when I finally lost my own patience with his parents and stepped in to teach them discipline. After a particularly stressful day of listening to his screaming and their loose threats, I finally took matters in hand.

Scooped him up under my arms and put him in the 'naughty chair'. Then I stood there arms crossed with 'the look' my own mother always used on me, burning holes into his brain. The original naughty chair was a large recliner in the living room. He screamed, flip flopped, rolled all over the thing, but only stuck his leg over the edge once to climb down. I made a noise similar to the Dog Whisperer and he pulled his leg back as if I had hit him with a cattle prod.

Eventually, he got the message and when I stuck him in the chair, he'd only sniffle for a few seconds and then sit there quietly until punishment was over. My daughter and her husband were amazed at the results. I don't repeat myself, and they only get one soft spoken warning before being scooped up and deposited in the chair. So now I am the baby's favorite Grandma like the rest of them and he follows me everywhere I go.

It had been a good month since I had seen them the last time they visited. I'm not sure what they had been doing with the child, but an alien came with them in the car. He screamed at decibels that are not humanly possible and then threw himself down onto the floor with an intent to harm himself. As anticipated, this resulted in hugs and kisses on the boo-boos and then he'd get what he wanted in the first place. I stood there watching these antics as long as I could and then told my daughter and her husband to go for a ride. She says, "Why, Momma?" and I replied "You don't want to know. Just get out for a couple hours and spend money or something."

It took about 10 minutes after their departure for him start the temper tantrum. Instead of the regular naughty chair, we graduated to the real one. I stuck a small folding stool in the middle of my bedroom away from all distractions and then stood there in the usual fashion. He'd scream, fall out of the chair and when I silently picked him up to put him back in the chair, he'd stiffen up so that I couldn't get him in it. My response was to give him a gentle karate chop to the belly, which would bend him over enough to get his butt in the chair. When that didn't work, he'd stomp his feet on the floor and then try to turn around so that he couldn't see me. I'd flip him back. Not a word on my part being said, mind you.

When that didn't work, he'd try to stick his fingers down his throat to vomit. I'd pull them down. Back up. OK, fine with me. Took a towel and wiped it off his face and still no change in my demeanor. Covered his hands with his face and when he pulled them back, he'd scream hysterically because of the snot on his hands. It was all I could do not to laugh at him. This went on for over an hour, but finally, that little colt was broken and he sat there quietly sniffling at me. "Well, now that you are done with all that, lets have a hug and you go be a good boy". Off he ran-into the living room to pick up a football and throw it square at his brother's head. We were only in the naughty chair about half an hour that time. Eventually, he learned that his way of handling the situation wasn't working at Grandma's house so we had a pleasant visit for the rest of their time here. When my daughter told him he was going to Grandma's today, he did his little happy dance and ran for the door. Guess that means we are in for more entertainment.