Is There A Doctor In The Mall?

Today was the #1 son's follow-up concussion appointment with the doctor. Excuse me. I mean nurse practitioner. Guess what? People piss me off!

To start with, the entire parking lot was full except for one tight spot that I squeezed T-Hoe into, down by another office of respiratory therapy of some sort. I despise a doctor's office in a strip mall. I told #1 that if somebody came and parked even closer than the car there right now, he might have to crawl across the console and back out of the space for me. He was game. You know those concussion youngsters. They are regular risk-takers.

Inside the waiting room, the entire bulge of the baby boom sat waiting for their appointments. I'm guessing they were appointments made six months in advance, and not enough oldsters kicked the bucket. This is the doctor (excuse me, nurse practitioner) where they post a sign that if you are more than 10 minutes late for your appointment, they cancel it and bill you anyway. Good thing we can't do that to the doctor (excuse me, nurse practitioner), because they would be in a hole deeper than the Land Lady, that real estate broker who testified at the eminent domain case on which I was fortunate enough to be picked to serve on the jury, after climbing down in a 20-foot hole, she said, to measure a highway sign that could have made her client money. But I digress. One pleasurable outing runs right into the next when you're Hillbilly Mom.

These old fogies did not come alone. They all had a spouse or lady friend in tow. Little did I know that the whole room and some who came in after us would be called back before we were. I know we were worked in outside of the six-month schedule, but I didn't expect to wait an hour. My doctor, yes. This one, no. They used to run no more than 15 minutes past appointment time. Must have been the strict enforcement of that 10-minute rule. Anyhoo... a nurse popped out of one of the side doors and called, "Charles?" An old guy and his old lady and a toddler jumped up. They had barely even sat their a$$es on two newly vacated chairs. We had been there 45 minutes already. But then the nurse looked puzzled. "Oh. Are you ready now? Come on back, we have room." Then she proceeded to call for the real dude she wanted, "Charles Lastname?" He had been there as long as us. I told #1 it was too bad his name wasn't Charles.

When we were called back, I went with my son. For a normal appointment, like his sports physical, or a cough/sore throat kind of thing, I let him go alone. He IS 14 now. But with a concussion follow-up, I wanted to ask some questions. Besides, he leaves out some information. For example, the doctor (excuse me, nurse practitioner) asked, "So how have you been feeling for the past few days?" And my boy replied, "Fine." OK. I'm rifling through my sound effects studio for that screeching brakes sound. Or maybe the stereo needle scraping across a 33 rpm vinyl platter, for those of you who still remember such antiques. What he needed to point out was a headache each day on Wednesday, Thursday, Friday, Saturday, Sunday. That's kind of vital info concerning a concussion. So I supplied it. But I'm getting ahead of myself.

These people really pissed me off when we were first taken back to the exam room. Just inside the inner office, a nurse weighed #1. Though he looks sturdy to me, he's 152 on a 6'2" frame. Then she took us into the exam room and took his temp with the door left open. A crony called to her, "Who do you have in there?" She yelled back his name. And the crony said, "Who's the other one? The mother?" Well now. Everyone else brought an entourage. I think it is within the boundaries of sensibility for a mama to accompany her concussed 14-year-old into the exam room. It's no skin off your a$$, Crony. You're not even the one working on him. So shut your piehole.

The doctor (I mean nurse practitioner) came in after a 10-minute wait, and poked and prodded and pushed and pulled and shined a light and squeezed #1's head. She said that he should not play basketball or any sport with people until another week has passed. He can, however, run and shoot baskets on his own. And we got a refill on his Nasonex prescription.

I need to call now and make an appointment for the middle of winter, and take a chance that he's sick that day, just in case he needs to see the DOCTOR. Not nurse practitioner.

Note to DeadpanAnn: Real clever, naming your son Charlie so he can usurp appointments that rightfully belong to others of the same name! You're an evil genius!