I am a Child Abuser. And other cool things I learn at the doctor.

Today I got to walk into something that’s becoming a new phobia of mine: I had to take my daughter to the doctor.

Now, I’ve never been afraid of doctors. I’m not afraid of procedures, or afraid of needles. I’m happy to give blood whenever I have a chance. And, my kid isn't afraid of the doctor either. In fact, my kids all treat doctor appointments like new and exciting events that might end in a shot, or might end in a lollypop. It’s like the Russian Roulette of childhood experiences.  My problem with the doctor, though, has nothing to do with shots. I’m afraid to go to the doctor, because apparently, I am a child abuser.
Or at least, that’s the opinion of every medical professional little C has seen over the last 2 years. Now join me, won’t you, as we examine the ways I have abused and traumatized my child in the eyes of local medical professionals:

VISIT 1: Fall of 2016
Their first problem was the adoption. Cuz yuck, gross. Adoption. Right? First visit, first nurse, was NOT a fan of all this adoption stuff. Well, what happened to her realfamily? Where are her realparents? Does she have any realsiblings? Classy, sensitive stuff like that. Stuff that totally makes sense to say to a mom standing in a small room with her 4 small children.

Moments later it was the doctor. Now he moved right past the adoption stuff, but of course, hit me in the face about the homeschool thing. Well why doesn't she go to realschool? WHEN is she going to realschool? Are you afraid she’ll get bullied if she goes to real school? Well how does she learn if someone doesn’t come out to your house and teach her, like in real school??

To sum up, my answers were: 1-Not your business, 2-not your business, 3-no (pause. You seriouslyjust asked me that in front of my child??) and 4-bite me. Respectfully. Of course.**

VISIT 2: Fall of 2017
My victims.
Well the next year, I was prepared. Prepared, but also not because I figured the first time was probably a fluke. Because come on now, it hadto be a fluke. Because what kind of psycho doctor's office treats someone like they MIGHT call child welfare over schooling choice, or because an adoption has happened, WHICH by the way is an AWESOME thing to happen, and super duper notsomething you should shame someone for. Psh. Dumb dumbs.

And that second visit then was actually going okay. Relatively normal. Until the doc got to that portion of the exam where she explains to my daughter that she is allowed to look at my daughter’s privates because she is a doctor, but normally do not ever ever let anyone look at your privates. And my dear innocent child, ever accommodating, smiles and says sweetly, "that's okay, I'm used to it!"

Good sweet Lord above. You should have seen the fire bolts that shot straight from that woman's eyes and through my skull as she whipped her head around. I closed my own eyes and sighed because, awesome. Apparently now I'm being accused of molesting my child. I'll be honest, I was half expecting the homeschool thing. Not everyone likes homeschooling. And I'm sure some people think it makes me a garbage mom. But this, this was new. I did not anticipate "People will think you sexually molest your child" to be like, a thing in my life.

Poor C laid back on the exam table with huge scared eyes that darted back and forth between myself and the doctor. And in a moment, or in 5 moments, our accusatory lady doc clued in. “Oh…. Do you mean from doctors?” C shook her head slowly up and down. And although the doctor backed off, things had kinda changed in that moment. 

Transition to:

TODAY. July 31, 2018
We went in because there’s some neurological/psychosocial/behavioral/academic/nothing terrifying but something worth looking into stuff going on with our child, and Daddio and I decided it was time to talk to someone. 

Abuse in action.
So I went in, locked, loaded, and ready for this meeting. I had planned ahead. I got my mom to watch the 3 other kids (I thought maybe the doctor’s saw me as a baby hoarder, and assumed I was makin’ babies to collect more welfare or I dunno, whatever people think disdainfully when they see a woman with a lot of kids.) I went in preparing ways to insert the fact that I have a Master’s Degree in Psychology, and have worked with children with a variety of psychological diagnoses for nearly 12 years, and been in the mental health field for 13.  I’m saying all of this to myself because I am scared of the stupid new doctor I’m going to meet. I am scared and I’m exhausted with being accused of being a crappy parent by these people and I want and I need to feel like a not-idiot in this room today.

But before I start, he already thinks I’m an idiot. Because I’m a mom and he’s a doctor and he very quickly explains to me why everything I think is wrong and what would possess me to come in here trying to make this diagnosis and… right. Here we are again.

So I took a deep breath, and decided I was going to take my turn and talk over the fella who was so hell bent on talking over me. I explained that she’d failed a test for dyslexia. But that it didn’t seem right to me because her reading is also reflected in how she patterns her thinking and her speech, which as far as I’ve seen, is not common in Dyslexia. I explained my research and my training and my support group inquiries and how sometimes early brain trauma can cause a different growth pattern in a child’s frontal lobe due to an increased frequency of adrenaline release., and that this all has been found to manifest as an a-typical form of ADD.***

The doctor sat back, and told me this was all above his pay grade. He then told me he was going to recommend a full psychiatric evaluation because, “at the very least there seems to be more going on here”.  Which, THANK YOU. That’s all I wanted out of you, my friend. I wanted someone who knows things to see my kid. Thank you.

Of course, he felt it was imperative to squeeze in at the end the fact that I need to get her into a regular school ASAP.  That much, apparently, wasn’t above his pay grade. And I could explain to him why her particular diagnosis of Reactive Attachment Disorder and her tendencies to…. But forget it. At least he didn’t think I was molesting her.

*The others are true. This one isn't. No one questions my fashion choices. Because I look UHMAYZING.

**100% a lie. I wasn't respectful. I was panicked, and I was mad. When he asked how my kids learn anything without someone coming out to the house to teach them, I straightened up and let him know that I have a Master's degree, so I feel like I can probably handle a first grade education. Ya blowhard piece of fecal matter. 

***Obviously I’m not a neurologist. But also? Listen to me when I talk, Dr. Buttface. Because I’m your client’s mom. And that should fracking be enough.

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