Let me set the scene.
It's Monday morning. My 6-year old has been puking since 1 am Sunday morning, (Happy Mother's Day to me!) and is running a crazy fever, so she's home from school.
I'm on a mission to deal with the insurance company and all the bills from Max's surgery that are mounting like crazy.
To avoid filling my blog with lots of four-letter words, let's just say that it took almost two hours, three representatives, a few rounds of tears, getting hung up on once, and several incidences of having the cell phone in one hand and the landline in the other, only to dscover that we are now responsible for an additional $2000 for Max's surgery.
Isn't that exciting? I mean, it's a good thing that it's springtime, because that money tree in the backyard is just starting to blossom.
After convincing myself that throwing the phone across the room wasn't going to solve anything, giving the six year old more tylenol, and the baby a stack of books to occupy him, I got in the shower in an attempt to start my day two hours late.
Approximately 24 seconds after I got out of the shower, the *%)@& phone started ringing again. This time, it was the ENT's office calling to cancel the appointment we set up a month ago to check on Max's ear tubes. It wouldn't be a huge deal, except he's 6 weeks post-op for ear tubes, and Max has been clawing his ears to shreds, and I've been anxious to make sure his tubes are in the right place.
Come to find out, there are no ENT's in the office this week. Or next week. The nurse at the ENT's office was sufficiently concerned about my baby scratching holes in his ears that she told us we need to make an appointment with our pediatrician ASAP.
So being a responsible mom, I called the pediatrician. I succeeded in securing an appointment for the next day. I thought all was fine and dandy until the receptionist said, "Wait a second. You have a flag on your file."
I started laughing. At this point, there was nothing else I could do. I mean, after finding out we're two thousand dollars poorer, what else could go wrong?
"Does your son have issues?" the receptionist asked.
Again, there was nothing I could do but laugh. Issues? No. Not unless you consider two major skull surgeries, a stack of specialists, and a medical history longer than the rest of the family put together "issues."
"Well, it's not a bad flag," she went on, "It's just a note that lets us know that we should schedule extra time for Max's appointments because of his issues."
By this time, I was laughing like a crazed maniac. My eighteen month old has been flagged at the pediatrician's office fore being a trouble maker. I have officially become one of "those" parents.
I spent the rest of the day laughing about it. It was either that or cry, and I already did my allotment of that for the day.
As a follow-up, Max's ears are perfectly clear. But the nasty stomach bug that started with Ashlynn left me laying on the couch moaning for a day and a half, and now has Max, fresh off a doctor visit, running a nasty fever.
Yup, we have issues.