Dr Visit

It happened today just as it always does. Just as it has since her first day on this earth, when Chris and I walked the sterilized hallway, brightly lit and smelling of peroxide, to see how her testing was going. When we arrived at the nursery the nurses huffed and puffed. They seemed almost angry... at her. At the three-hour-old. "We are trying to do her hearing tests, but she won't lay still. She keeps knocking the ear buds out of her ears and she wails every time we put them back in! I don't know what else to do, she just won't cooperate!!"

We laughed on our way back to our hospital womb...I mean room. Our sanctuary from the real world. The place where two lonely people became a loving, caring family of three. How funny our little angel is that she's already getting into trouble...getting under people's skin. She will be a handful, we mused, delighted at the thought of this new brilliant life becoming anything more than an eloquent dream.

She grew up much the opposite. Always happy, always smiling. In her first two years there was never any need for discipline. No need to tell the 15 month old, more than once, not to touch the light sockets, air vents, hot burner...she understood the dangers and heeded the warnings...far before she should have been able to understand. She always went to bed happily in her crib, always at 7pm, always on her own. She would wake up an hour before we rose and would play with her stuffed animals and wait for us to come. Singing songs to herself all the while. She was a dream baby who grew into a dream four-year-old.

Although there was the one thing...ear infection after ear infection she suffered. Countless scraping and cleaning out of her ears with long skinny surgical spears. All the while being held down by nurses and doctors as she screamed, kicked and fought with all her strength. Consequently in loud arenas, memorial day parades, indoor basketball games, movie theatres...with hands covering her ears she cried big fat crocodile tears for the pain. In these moments her dark passenger would take over and she became possessed by the agony of her hypersensitivity.

Today was no different...well, sort of. We have a different doctor now. We loved the old one because he knew us, knew her, and understood her issues. The new one knows only her dark passenger. From day one I could tell she did not believe what I told her about my girl. When I began to explain her ear problems, the doctor said to me, "Well I'm sure most of her 'problems' are because of her personality." She gave me that very familiar look that most mothers have seen at least once before. The look that says, "Okay lady, you are just enabling bad behavior, but I see the forest through the trees. She isn't getting enough discipline. You don't know what you're talking about."

This morning, after the doctor, myself and two nurses spent the ten longest minutes in human history holding her down so her ears could be cleaned for the fifth time in four months, the doctor said to me, "I think you should consider counselling. She is going to be very tough. You need to be careful with her."

There are so many emotions raging through my body at this moment. Even as I type these words I am shaking with an anger I have never felt in my life. Not when my mother sent my cat to be euthanized at the pound. Not when my first boyfriend brought another girl to a party we were supposed to meet at. Not when my father abandoned my mom and baby brother. Never in my life have I felt so angry and I don't even know where to place it.

I am angry at this doctor, this woman who is making judgements and ignoring the words I am saying. I am angry at myself for not doing more to help her sooner, for not figuring out how to help her. I am angry at Chris for not taking me seriously when I would tell him something was wrong with her. Angry at that ignorant doctor for making me doubt my child's sanity. Angry at her teachers for always praising her instead of telling me how to fix her. Angry at myself for not loving her enough to accept her and to even want to fix her. Angry at the world for not accepting her. Angry at my friends and sisters who have such average kids. Angry at myself for being so weak. Angry at myself for being so emotional and passing that on to her. Angry for doubting her. Angry for not being a better mom. Angry for not teaching her how to cope better. Angry for staying home with her and giving her too much attention, that has resulted in her being soft (the exact words from this doctor). ANGRY. ANGRY! ANGRY!

I cry a little. I have a snack. I cry a little more. I pull it together and put in a call to her teacher. I write my blog. I call my mom. I do research online for anything involving hypersensitivity disorders, physical. I pray. I watch 'The View.' I peak in on her sleepin. I touch her curls and kiss her forehead. I'm sorry baby. There is nothing in this world that is more amazing than you. I will figure this out...