Tuesday, April 17, 2012

day seven: mommy has a meltdown

I'm sure I've mentioned before that I work with kiddos just like Punkin, several of whom over the years have taken medication. When that medication doesn't work or when it isn't being administered, life is frustrating for the child and for us. The work day is a difficult one to move through and as an educator you worry about the skills that might be lost.

As a parent, you worry until you cry on the phone with a rather unempathetic (did I just make up a word?) secretary. I'm assuming this particular woman and the nurse I spoke to multiple times between Friday and today have never personally dealt with giving a child serious mood altering medications. They just could not understand why I insisted on only speaking to the doctor.

Nurses are awesome. Nurses answer a lot of my questions on a daily basis. A nurse was the single most helpful person in delivering my precious son. A nurse, however, cannot prescribe medication. A nurse is not our doctor.

This is the third time I called. Today. The doctor left me a message giving me a direct line. Sort of.

"I'd like to leave a voice mail for the doctor please."

"I'm her voice mail."

 "Okay, well, that doesn't help me."

 "I can transfer you to a nurse."

"I don't need a nurse. I need to speak to the doctor."

 "The nurses can pass along the information to the doctor in between her seeing patients."

"No thank you." I start angry-crying. "She gave me this number so that I could reach her directly."

"Which number is that?" We talk in a circle for another 30 seconds.

"Will she call me when she gets back to her office?" (Meaning, is that her standard procedure?)

Laughs, "Well, I can't make her, but I'll give her the message."

More circles. She makes me talk to the nurse, who wants to solve the problem by talking to the doctor herself.

 "I am not comfortable playing telephone. I don't want you to try to relay information. I want to speak to her. If you could give me a time that she might be able to call, that would be helpful."

 "I understand (By this point both women had called me ma'am several times. Not good.) Her last patient is at 4:00."

 "Great."

 "In the meantime, is there anything I can do to help you?" (This poor woman.)

"No. No. He is going to need new medication. There's nothing you can help me with."

 "I see."

 Then I got to go to a meeting to confirm that Punkin can't attend the summer program he attended last year because they feel they can't meet his needs. So, deflated would be the word of the afternoon.

 Until.

 I finally got a call from the doctor and after explaining that Punkin is happy but full of wanderlust, I agreed to put him on Adderall XR. It will be a few days before I can fill it, so we'll have to tough it out. But she thinks maybe his rosy cheeks were related to the minocycline, so we are stopping that.

But the real joyful moment in the day was when I hung up the phone and Punkin brought me two waffles, with syrup, that he had toasted himself.

2 comments:

Kristiem10 said...

I can't tell you how many times I've had that conversation with nurses and receptionists. Even with the doctor saying he'd talk to me. I sometimes refer to the receptionist at some doctor's offices as guard dogs. I know it's not kind of me, but it's like they think they have to decide if you warrant a converstion with the doctor. Supremely frustrating.

the mommy psychologist said...

Sorry you got the run around today.