Adenoids

Let's talk about adenoids for a minute. Do you even know what adenoids are? Like most people, I know that adenoids are lymph-node type thingies somewhere between my throat and my ear. No idea what they do.

Well now I know that one doesn't actually NEED adenoids. I know this because they want to take my daughter's out. How exactly did this come about, and why am I freaking out about it?

Long story short: teachers say child hesitates in the middle of her sentences. They send her to Speech Therapist. Speech Therapist determines child has no speech-related issues; says child is "hypo-nasal" and recommends a visit to the Pediatrician. Pediatrician looks at her, sees fluid in her ears, and send us to the Radiologist. Radiologist takes head and neck X-rays, diagnoses her as having enlarged adenoids, and sends up back to the Pediatrician. Pediatrician sends us to Pediatric ENT. Pediatric ENT decides that she needs to have the adenoids removed, and she needs to have tubes put in her ears. And here we are. A 6 week journey to get us to surgery.

Let me divert for just a moment and discuss one of my B-I-G pet peeves: rude doctors. I understand that doctors go to school FOREVER. I understand that they are (for the most part) really smart and really qualified. I know that many of them are wonderful, life-saving individuals. I don't, however, believe that they are God, or any sort of deiety, nor do I believe they are excused from the rules of common courtesy that most of us practice. So - Dr. I'm-way-too-busy-and-important: hear this. We have been in your office for an hour and a half. We are a little freaked out. Our daughter is MORE than a little freaked out. When you come in the door, would it kill you to, oh, I don't know, LOOK ME IN THE EYE? SAY HELLO? INTRODUCE YOURSELF? MAKE EYE CONTACT AND SAY HELLO TO OUR CHILD? Apparently so. Instead, you come in, jump on the computer, look in my daughter's ears, shove the Xray up on the board, and tell me my kid needs surgery. Shouldn't "Bedside Manner 101" be required curriculum in Med School, especially for Pediatric doctors?

Then you stick us back in the waiting room with 12 other kids and their parents. It's hot in here. There aren't enough chairs. There is only 1 child-diversion toy...a bead maze thingy that occupies most 3 year olds for about 4 minutes. HELLO? Pediatric office...maybe you want to put some kid's books or games or something in there.

Two and a half hours later, we are sent home with a little blue folder telling us all about how we should get her ready, where the hopsital is, etc. I was (am) freaked out. Me and Bart are both a little stunned I think, and a little overwhelmed.

Dr. Important is supposed to be really good. And dozens of kids have their adenoids out every day. Cool. Outpatient procedure - I get it. But you know what? We're still talking about my baby here. My precious little child who means the entire world to me, regardless of how many times this surgery has been done or how routine this procedure is. It's MY BABY. And although I'm not a PhD, I AM college educated. I KNOW that anytime a person goes under anesthesia, there's a risk. You never know how someone might react. They could be allergic. Something could go wrong. It happens, and we all know it. MY BABY.

So I'm not getting a lot of comfort from all the people who tell me that their kids had it done, or it's no big deal. It feels like a big deal to me. And I have to try really hard not to let it show (hard for me and my total lack of a poker face), because I don't want to freak her out. I have to smile and tell her it's no big deal, and then eat a half a bag of chocolate chips when no one is looking. Or tear up when I'm typing this blog.

Adenoids. I will keep you posted. And after the surgery, I'm writing a nice, frank letter to Dr. Important. He'll probably throw it in the garbage, but at least I can say I've tried. Maybe it will make Dr. Importnat go buy some games for his waiting room, and to actually talk to (not at) some other freaked out kid he sees...