Well it's pretty clear that Mr. Pants is allergic to certain bug bites. I'm thinking mosquitos but we aren't sure. He gets bit and blows up like a balloon. Last night we were worried that one of his bites had turned into cellulitis. So off to the emergency room we went. Everything was going just fine until the triage nurse tried to force Mr. Pants onto the scale. I intercepted him quickly but the damage was done. She scared him and he reacted with ear shattering protest. It took about twenty minutes to bring him back to a good place. Twenty minutes of gagging and compulsive pacing. Rubbing his shirt and touching my face. "No mama, no! Go dat way!!" as he pointed to the door to leave. He said this about hundred times. Tears fighting hard to exit my eyes but I kept them at bay. I put on a brave face for him and tried to relay calm. We breathed in and out like a balloon and sipped some juice. All the while knowing that we haven't even seen the doctor yet.
Side note: I'd like to publically commend myself for not kicking that nurse's ass when she said to me, "Looks like someone needs a spanking". I mean it took every single cell in my body not to spank HER. Instead I said, "Um, no. He needs you to be kind to him because he is scared. He's three years old and at the emergency room past his bedtime and his side hurts. So yeah, um, no.". I held him, or rather he held me and tried to claw his way inside me and I told her she wouldn't be weighing him. But the damage was done. His fear got the better of him and he made himself sick.
But thank the Universe for cool hospital beds with buttons. His face lit up when he saw it and I knew that we were in the clear for a bit. At least until the doctor comes in and tries to touch him. For this minute, he was happy and calm. In true Mr. Pants style, he stripped and got in bed. "Ni-Ni, Mama!" and he proceeded to say night night to every member of our family and also the doctors and his trucks. That's when he caught a glimpse of the cabinets and all of the treasures like diapers and bed pans and blankets that they had to offer him. So he hopped off the bed and sauntered over to check them out.
He decides he will not be getting dressed, so I carry him out in his underwear. No big thing, man. That's not a battle worth fighting. As we leave, he waves goodbye to every single person we pass in the hallways. Every doctor, nurse and patient. But when we get to the front, he falls silent when he sees the triage nurse and buries his head into my neck. I think about how I could body block her or something but decide it would set a bad example and instead I say goodnight to her. As we walk by her she says, "I'm sorry, buddy" and I think, "Eff you and your shitty bedside manner, jerk off" but instead I say, "I accept your apology. Goodnight".
We head out into the night. It's ten thirty, Pants is hungry and naked but for underwear. I buckle him into his seat and ask him if he wants a special treat. His eyes light up and he knows what I'm talking about. It's nuggets and fries and chocolate milk time! He more than earned it. I head out of the parking lot and tears come to my eyes remembering how afraid he was and how I hate (is there a stronger word than hate? Because I'd use it) hate hate when my kids are afraid. I think it might be the absolute worst thing. I'm crying the tears I wanted to cry when he was in crisis, I say to Mr. Pants, "You did so great tonight, sweetheart. Mama is so proud of you.". He responds, "Ah doctor ah FUN!". Say what? "You had fun at the doctor?", I say. "At ah so FUN!", he says back. This kid. He's campaigning. He doesn't realize that his special treat is in the bag.
Handing him his nuggets and fries, he says "Dank yoo, mama! Ah go home, ok?". I say, "Yeah bud. Let's go home."