Doctor's Office

Yesterday, when the littlest man was just a week old, we had a doctor's appointment for his big brother.  He has had a raging diaper rash that has not responded to traditional ointments or anti-fungal creams, and so we decided to get a second opinion.  It was his first appointment with a new doctor, and one we hoped would become our equivalent of a primary care physician, so we decided that it would be helpful if we all went to meet her.  Incidentally, her office is right next to the amazing school that we want to send the boys to.  It is only 5km from here, but due to its location in a small town, it involves riding 3 busses to get there.  And yesterday, that meant in the rain.  So we set off, L only 1 week post partum, carrying an umbrella and with the tiny man snuggled on her chest in an Ergo baby carrier, his big brother in a stroller covered with a raincover, and me in a raincoat.  We managed all 3 busses just fine, and found the doctor's office with little trouble.

Then, we entered the waiting room.  Waiting rooms are TINY here.  They are the size of the bathrooms in many American houses.  A half dozen chairs are crammed into the tiny space, and they are usually all taken.  There is no receptionist.  And the room is usually dead silent.  Even the kids are quiet, sitting patiently next to their parents or reading books.  Then, we showed up.  Our toddler decided to play with the train set that was provided (though given the lack of floor space, it seems like an odd choice for a waiting room).  He tried several times to dump the entire basket of train track pieces out onto the ground, and then proceeded to build a track that took up half of the floor.  At least he was doing it relatively quietly... but we were relieved when the doctor popped her head out of her office door and welcomed us in.

Doctors offices here hold their work desks as well as an examining table.  While we sat at her desk to give her his medical history, I happened to glance over at big brother as he was playing on the floor, and noticed an enormous brown volcano bubbling out the top of his diaper, up his shirt, down his pants, and plopping large chunks onto the floor.  Holy poopocalypse, batman!  I jumped up and tried to stop the mess, but this worked about as well as when I tried to catch his vomit in my hands two nights ago.  Ultimately, we ended up with crap all over my pants, my shirt, the floor, his shirt, his pants, and over most of his body.  I apologized profusely as I tried to wipe the poop up off her bamboo floor with my pathetic bum wipes.  Being the super prepared parents that we are (ha!), we had packed a change of clothes for the infant, but not for the toddler.  The visit ended with the doctor lecturing us for letting our little guy eat too much yogurt ("really, how could you let him eat that much yogurt?", she scolded us), prescribing 80€ of probiotics and two creams to tame his poor diaper rash, and telling us to stop all dairy products for two weeks.  For a little guy who LOVES his cheese, and in a country with so many delicious choices, this just sounds cruel, but we are going to try it.  We ultimately left the office with him wearing his pants and jacket, but no shirt, and with me smelling like a bag of dirty diapers, and still needing to stop at the pharmacy, the grocery store, AND take three busses to get home.  Oh, the joys!

- E