Our doctor’s appointment ended up like some sort of super-unfunny sitcom.  I wouldn’t be surprised to see a similar plot on next week’s Two and a Half Men. Although I’ll shoot heroin into my eyeballs before I watch that show so I won’t actually get to see it.

Although the hospital is less than a mile from the house, I knew enough to leave 30 minutes early so we could figure out exactly where we were going. The nice old lady at the information desk (Oh what a beautiful baby!) sent us up to registration. Ten minutes of staring at an unmanned desk later, a registration specialist (secretary? check-in bitch?) came out and called our name. No I don’t have any paperwork. No I don’t know the baby’s social security number – I didn’t know he needed it as he’s a little young for legal employment. No I don’t know who the appointment is with. Yes I know he’s a beautiful baby. Ten minutes of phone calls and computers and shuffling paperwork later she told us our appointment was actually scheduled for the OTHER outpatient services. Aaaaand now we’re late.

So we strap the baby back in the carrier and drive to the OTHER outpatient services clinic in a strip mall off the highway. The nice old man at the information desk (Oh what a beautiful baby!) guessed that we wanted diagnostic imaging and sent us down to check in. Finally in the right place, another registration specialist checks us in. No I still don’t know the baby’s social security number. Yes we’ll be happy to wait.

We sat down to wait and had a conversation with another (drunk?) patient (Oh what a beautiful baby!), then we were called back to the x-ray room. After a few terrifying moments of staring at this horrible huge heavy scary machinery they want to lower over my child, we decided I would stay outside and E could wear the lead vest and hold the baby. Oh but before we do the x-ray we need the baby to drink this special x-ray stuff, probably full of radiation and poison. Baby Evan is waaaay to smart and decided he was having none of that. Actually, his objection wasn’t so much to the grossness of the liquid as it was to the method of delivery. He was all I DON’T TAKE BOTTLES and the techs were like EVER? Like, EVER? and Baby Evan was all GIMME A BOOB OR I’M OUTTA HERE. Who knew breastfeeding could be a bad thing when it comes to medical tests. So they tried to x-ray him anyway and got a great picture of his ribcage that shows absolutely nothing. But since the blood hasn’t reappeared and the specialist wasn’t too concerned (I’ve never had such a happy patient!) I’m going to officially stop worrying.

Our pediatrician is probably going to call this week with offers of another type of test – possibly a scope – but I think I’ll turn him down. Baby Evan’s 4 month check up is in a couple weeks. If anyone is still concerned at that point we can procede but since I have such a beautiful, happy baby I’m not going to risk turning him into a sick, troubled baby by sticking him with stuff and shoving things down his throat.

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