Miracles in July

So I took Elvis to get his shots this afternoon, so he can go to kindergarten in the fall–or more precisely, stay in kindergarten come next February–and the visit did not bode well initially. We went into the the doctor’s office, where there was a very long line–unusual for a bright summer day. Apparently the office is transitioning to a new computer system, and they thank us for their patience. I remember when they got the new computer system. That was the day I first called to make this appointment and was told they couldn’t make any appointments that weren’t for that same day until the new computer system was finished installing, in about 24 hours. Which was fine, I was happy to call back 24 hours later. Except that I forgot to call back 24 hours later. I forgot to call back for about 504 hours. Anyway, suffice it to say that the new computer system has been around for several weeks, so it’s not a matter of them getting used to it or working out kinks. It’s a matter of every single patient having to go through an initial really-long-check-in-process. So where was I? Sorry, it was just the most amazingly long line, and it was made even longer, as I shall explain in the next paragraph…

…because SOMEBODY (i.e., Elvis) kept running out of the office and into the lobby and up the stairs and onto the elevator and coming back down again extremely pleased with himself and shouting, “There you are!” This might not have been quite so bad if it weren’t for the fact that this office building boasts the World’s Slowest Elevator. Seriously, it would take a full three minutes for it to travel from floor 2 to floor 1. I’m talking actual travel time, not waiting-for-people-to-get-on-and-off time. No one else was using the elevator, probably because it’s so stinking slow that even people in wheelchairs would rather take their chances with the stairs. What’s going on in that elevator? Is it being controlled by the pediatrician’s new computer system? Anyway, every time Elvis would take one of his magic elevator rides, at least two new parties of patients would come into the doctor’s office and get in line, so I was just not getting ahead, as you can imagine.

Fortunately, at one point a woman who had come in at the exact moment that Elvis was rushing out the door to go up the stairs again saw me come back into the office and let me get in line ahead of her, which was where I would have been if he hadn’t been such a stinking turkey in the first place. God bless that saintly woman. I wish I could have rewarded her with something better than a 50-pound monkey boy flailing around and screaming for me to let him go. “I STUCK! I STUCK!” Yeah, I know, buster. I stuck you there. At one point he even tried to get tricky with me, asking me for hugs, which are easier to wriggle out of than wrestling holds. Fat chance, pal. Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me 47 times and it’s my foot on your back until the nice lady brings your file up on H.A.L. over here.

Naturally, when I had to loosen my grip in order to dig through my purse for his insurance card, he escaped yet again, and once again, I had to go after him and wait for the three-minute elevator. I’m sure the people behind me were madly in love with both of us by now. I’m expecting flowers and marriage proposals by the dozens. Anyway, I finally, finally got us checked in, and that’s when the miracles started happening.

First of all, the nurse took his weight.  She took his weight, meaning that she told him to step up on the scale, and he did.  He even stayed there long enough for her to move the little thingy back and forth so she could get the exact half-poundage.  This has never before happened.  Then she measured his height.  He’s 46 inches.  I always suspected, but I never really knew.  What good is this information?  Who cares?  I have it now, and I’ll find a way to use it.

Then we went into the exam room and waited for the doctor, who showed up within three minutes.  I know, I was pinching myself!  Elvis just lay there on the exam table and let her examine him.  She looked in his eyes and up his nose, felt his tummy, even checked that Very Personal Area–and he was fine.  Didn’t so much as flinch.  Okay, maybe he flinched a little, but it was very brief.  Overall, he was the picture of cooperation.

So the doctor pronounced him perfectly healthy and said she’d send the nurse in to do the shots.  I asked if they had any restraints, half-jokingly–well, mostly pretending to be half-joking, but in reality quite serious–and she said, no, they didn’t have any, but she’d have them bring “reinforcements.”  So two nurses came in, one to hold him still while the other administered the shots.  Elvis didn’t like being held still, but that other nurse was so swift, he was half-immunized before he even realized what was happening.  It was amazing.  He didn’t even cry until the last shot (there were four), but then he got his bandages and they released him, and he just walked off in a daze, like it had all been a crazy dream.  I tell you, I came this close to crying.  I couldn’t believe how easy it was.  I walked out to my car, half-expecting to find the Virgin Mary in the fingerprints on my windshield.

You know, this day started out pretty crappy, but now I’m beginning to think that somebody up there doesn’t hate my guts.  I don’t know how He or She did it, but…thank you.  I needed that.