Three Ring Circus

Let’s start this entry off on a happy note. One of my friends brought around an old, blue, plastic, ride in car. I think this car has gone through a few midwives’ children. It’s old and battered and has pieces missing. The steering wheel is wobbly and there is a piece of rope tied to the front so that it can be pulled along. Noah LOVES it! We have had the car for just under a week and there has not been a day when I haven’t found him sitting in it. He will not relinquish it for anyone, though many have tried. It is the first thing that Noah has ever claimed for himself. His ‘carcar’. On the first day of his love affair with ‘carcar’ I found him, after all the kids had dragged him around all day, planted in front of the television. Anyone who knows Noah will find this amazing as he doesn’t usually stay still for anything and yet, there he sat in his car for over an hour before he demanded that Lily take him for another ride. In the end I had to pick him up, kicking and screaming out of ‘carcar’ and into his highchair for dinner and a bath. Within minutes of these tasks being completed, I found him, once again in the blue car. It is the first thing he asks for in the morning and if we are out he will say to me ‘go - car’. He loves it more than anything else. His grandmother thinks he is a petrol head. His father thinks it is cute and funny. I am amazed at how these things are woven into the male being. The other day I found him in the car saying ‘Broom, Broom!!!’ How did he know that? No one taught him as far as I know. Is it a male thing, that they just know about cars and have a love for them, even from a really young age? At least it will make birthdays easy, knowing that my boy loves all things vehicle.

Our bus came back to us on Friday, our wallets over $1000 lighter! It came home with a dire warning that we need to get rid of it as there was more breaking in the old bus and we would soon see our purses emptier. Dave is now scouring all the internet spaces and car lots that sell buses. How we are ever going to afford a new bus is beyond me but I guess I can let the man dream.

Today I tried to get Ivy some more medical attention from her paed ( Dave says I can’t mention names - for fear of being sued so for naming purposes he shall be known as Micky Shortergan) After a nightmarish week before where we finally saw Micky on the Thursday, only to have him charge us a hundred bucks for nothing and then turning around the very next day to see the ENT doctor who put the grommets in her ears (for naming purposes will be known as Associate Professor Skippy) only to be told that there was nothing in her ears and to go home and get over it, Ivy spent the weekend getting sicker and sicker. With no antibiotics and no drops to fight off her imaginary infection, by Sunday she had temperatures in the 39s. Come monday we thought we would be able to get some help. You’d think that, wouldn’t you? If it were your baby, you would do everything you could to get her better. I’m sure if these doctor’s children required medical attention, they would NOT be fobbed off. They would expect the very best in care, right? Ok, forget that they are doctors and that they could probably treat their own babies for just a second… they would want them to be seen. That’s all I wanted. For someone to see her, concede she was very ill and treat her accordingly. Easy, right? Wrong.

We phoned Micky Shortergan, who promptly told us that Ivy was not his patient and not his problem to refer back to Skippy, as he put her grommets in. Fair enough. Even though I beg to differ. I think she IS his patient and his problem but anyway. He IS a paediatrician after all and shouldn’t a paediatrician look after his child patients? Besides that, he referred her onto Skippy for care, so doesn’t Ivy become his problem by default? I digress…

We called Skippy’s rooms to be confronted with an answering machine stating that his rooms were closed for the day. GREAT. So we called back Micky. His receptionist said she would get him to call us back. In the meantime we tried to get into our local medical centre. Ok, if you are happy to wait three days and see the doctor nobody likes. *SIGH* Of course the paed never called back and Ivy is still as unwell as ever. Nothing has been resolved regarding her imaginary ear infection. My poor babygirl.

Tomorrow is a new day however…bring on tomorrow!

Here are some positive affirmations for tomorrow;

tomorrow the big kids will be back at school (YAY)

tomorrow I WILL speak to a competent doctor and I WILL get Ivy the help that she needs

tomorrow I won’t feel so angry and bitter with the medical community up here in the boonies, I may even thank one of them

tomorrow I will feel like a good mother again and I won’t have to stress about my baby being so sick anymore.

Ahhh, tomorrow.