Zan has been stuffed up for days. Days upon days. He’s prone to sinus infections, so when he’s been this stuffed up for this long, we know he’s going to need antibiotics. (And before everyone gets all “But overuse of antibiotics will cause the earth to implode!” on me: the last time he was prescribed antibiotics was August of last year.) Which is why, when Wonder Woman called the pediatrician’s office three days ago and was told to give it a few more days, we were mildly annoyed, because we knew how this story was going to end.
And which is also why, while at the doc’s office with Zan and Jayna this afternoon, I did all the necessary things to ensure that she wrote him a prescription before we left.
“Oh, yes, he’s been stuffed up for about six or seven
days months now. Yes, snot as thick as rubber cement and as green as Kermit the Frog. Kid can’t breathe to save his life. Up all night, every night. What’s that? Yes, I know he doesn’t have a fever right this minute, per se, but we were frying eggs on his forehead this morning. Between you and me, I’m surprised he didn’t suffer permanent brain damage from the high temperature he was running. Had to be around a buck-ten. You’re prescribing him what? Antibiotics? Hmmm … I don’t know. Do you really think he needs that? OK, well, if you insist.”
If I could recover the co-pays for every doctor’s visit we’ve made with these kids during which we’ve been certain they needed antibiotics but have been told to wait it out a bit longer, only to return to the doc’s office two or three days later and be told, “You know what? You’re right. We need to put him/her on antibiotics,” I’d be able to afford a trip to someplace incredibly photogenic, and you wouldn’t have to settle for pictures of medicine bottles.
(BTW: Is there no such thing as
an 800mg a 200 mL container …?)