E-N-T

Who knew three letters, which might seem so insignificant to many, could cause me to shutter with fear. The feelings of dread worsen with each visit, because each visit seems to become more painful. For those lucky ones of you who may not even know what ENT stands for it's a code used to mask a terrible, awful place. They say it stands for Ear, Nose, and Throat...but I'm not buying it. I think it stands for: Extreme, Neverending, Torture. Cale got tubes a few months back and has been dealing with clogging of the tubes ever since. A few days ago he woke up with what looked like pink eye; crusty, swollen, little pitiful eyes. But, after our first doctor visit this morning, it's apparently some kind of viral infection and Cale has some bad allergy issues. After the morning doctor visit, we headed home for a few hours and then headed back for our ENT visit. As we pulled into the parking lot, my heart sank as I spotted only a few empty spots. This couldn't be a good sign. I reluctantly got Cale out of the carseat and lifted his, obnoxiously over-packed diaper bag (This wasn't my first ENT rodeo, so I knew to bring plenty of ammunition...actually I don't think there is such a thing as plenty). As we walked into the door of the torture chamb...ahem, I mean "clinic", my heart sank even more. I think it sank all the way down to my feet. There was not an empty chair in the place and as I gazed around I saw at least 6 other squirming babies, screaming as their mothers glanced up at me with a look of desperation that said, "Run while you can!".

An hour later, and a once-full bag of tricks now empty, I understood the looks on those mothers' faces. I remember thinking, "How embarrassing! I could never do that", when I would see mom's singing, reading to, or dancing with their babies in the doctor's office. Never say never. That was me. I read in silly voices, bounced Cale around, held many "pretend" phone conversations that always ended in me giving Cale the phone because OF COURSE the person on the other end always wanted to talk to him. I must give Cale credit. To be feeling bad, going on barely more than a power nap, and being forced to sit in my lap for over an hour, he behaved very well. Finally, after listening to name after name that wasn't Cale's, it was our turn. I was so relieved to finally get out of that crowded, noisy lobby. But, what I didn't know was that the real torture was about to begin. The torture we had just endured for over an hour was merely the preview to the finale. After looking in my son's ear, the doctor said in a solemn voice, "We're going to have to go in the other room to get a better look with the microscope. Have you ever been to the...other room?" I didn't like the way he said, "other". He explained to me that Cale would be put on a mat, and he would use a noisy tool to suction the fluid out. He prepared me for tears and even mentioned that I would stand by him to keep him calm. What I didn't realize is that the nurse would hold his head (and she had to hold tightly), while I flung my upper body over Cale's entire body to keep him from kicking/jumping/rolling. He screamed and and cried, and screamed and cried. After several minutes of this, the doctor said we were finished. Cale and I both emerged sweaty and tired and drained. I never cried, but I felt like it. It was much worse than holding his legs for a 2-second shot. This lasted about 4 minutes that felt like forever. I felt so guilty after we left that I let Cale have a sucker all to himself, to get who knows what, all sticky. I even got him his own little Sonic drink. Yes, I guess I buy my kid's forgiveness. It's shameful, right?

Even though my stomach aches to think about going back (in 2 weeks) our ENT and his nurses are extremely nice. The visits are simply a necessary evil that we must deal with right now. My husband doesn't know it, but he's in line to take Cale this next time.