Like all moms, you deeply hope your baby will never get sick. Let’s be realistic: that’s about as likely as winning $60 million in the lottery. It’s even less likely if you have other kids. And it’s even less likely if those kids go to daycare or school. If you’re unlucky, you’ll have had to take your baby to the doctor before they’re two months old. And if you’re lucky, it might not happen until four or five months. The fact is, sooner or later, you’ll find yourself in the ER in the middle of the night with your little one coughing their lungs out, burning up with a fever, or wailing their heart out. And there, you’ll meet a whole bunch of people.
The Clueless Nurse: She’s the one who glances at your little one and says, “He doesn’t really look sick.” You feel like you’re bothering her. She asks you the standard questions, and if you have the misfortune of answering that you don’t know, she won’t hesitate to tell you that’s unacceptable. She makes you feel like an idiot who knows nothing. She performs her duties with detachment. She barely even looks at your little one. If the baby cries, it doesn’t even seem to faze her in the least.
Fortunately, there’s also the kind nurse. She’ll find the brightest fluorescent crayon to distract the baby. She’ll take the time to explain things to you. She’ll take the time to listen to you. She’ll reassure you by telling you that you did the right thing by coming in. She’ll treat your baby with gentleness and care, without forgetting that you’re in the room.
Then there are the annoying old folks: the ones who want to have a long chat. Let’s be clear: you’ve got nothing against older people, but you haven’t slept in a week, your baby’s been sneezing all over you, you’ve been overusing Tylenol and Tempra, and you’ve been hearing that wailing right in your ears. You’re not exactly in the mood for their stories.
Then there are the intrusive ones: the ones who want to touch your baby. The ones who ask how old the baby is, if it’s your first, how old your other kids are—and then go and touch your baby again, asking if you want more, if you’re breastfeeding, and touching your baby yet again. Is there something they just don’t get? There are germs on your hands.
Then there are the sleepers: the ones with their heads tilted to the side or back, snoring away. They’re fine—they don’t bother you. It’s perfect.
Then there are the toddlers: the ones running all over the place whining, with their moms trying to keep up with them while juggling a sippy cup, a blanket, a stuffed animal, a snack, and a coat.
Then there are the impatient ones: those who go back to the receptionist or nurse 850 times to find out how many people are ahead of them. They let out big sighs. They make lame puns about how we’re called “patients” and have to be patient. They complain about the TV. They’re too hot and too cold.
Then there are your text messages, too: a dad worries, too. So he thinks that if he texts you every 10 minutes, you’ll have some big news to tell him. Your mom also wants to know how the baby’s doing. And maybe even your sister. Even though you told everyone you’d let them know if there was any news.
Finally, the doctor arrives. The one who puts an end to the waiting. The one who’s going to cure your baby!