As a parent, I have spent countless hours in the pediatrician’s waiting room, often wondering if this is a universal experience or just specific to our doctor. Perhaps there’s a belief that parents of young children, who require a pediatrician, are rarely on time, and thus the office schedule reflects that reality.
Recently, while waiting for my daughter Emma’s six-month checkup, I found myself in that familiar situation. Emma was comfortably settled in her car seat, while I drifted into a near-trance, lulled by the repetitive episodes of Mister Rogers playing on the small television in the corner. “Of course, we can be friends, Fred,” I thought, as I watched the trolley enter the Land of Make-Believe.
Just then, another mother entered the waiting area with her baby, who was about the same age as Emma. After exchanging the typical small talk about the weather, our babies’ ages, and mutual compliments on their cuteness, I noticed her rolling her baby’s car seat back and forth enthusiastically. The baby was clearly delighted, squealing and giggling with joy.
Inspired, I decided to try a similar technique with Emma’s car seat placed on my lap. Unfortunately, my efforts did not elicit the same reaction; Emma’s expression suggested she was less than impressed, almost as if to say, “Really, Mom?”
During this rolling motion, I noticed something unusual: a dark spot on the top of Emma’s left ear that resembled a small hole. “That’s odd,” I thought. Surely if my baby had a hole in her ear, someone would have noticed it by now. After all, I had nearly left the house without shoes that morning.
As I leaned in closer to investigate, I realized the dark area was not an actual hole, but rather dried blood. “Well, that’s a relief,” I thought, but then a wave of panic washed over me—dried blood is still not a good sign! What was I thinking, allowing myself to leave the hospital with this babe six months ago?
Emma is generally a calm child. As I gently examined her ear, she seemed more interested in her hands than my poking and prodding, which was somewhat reassuring. The blood was high enough that it didn’t seem like a serious injury, but I debated whether to mention it to the pediatrician. If I told him I just noticed it now, he might judge me as a negligent parent. If I claimed I had known about it for a while and did nothing, that would also reflect poorly on me. And if I didn’t mention it at all and he discovered it himself, he might think I was trying to hide something.
Ultimately, I decided to be honest about my discovery—though I omitted the initial confusion regarding the hole. Better to be perceived as incompetent than as deceitful. The pediatrician, upon examining Emma’s ear, seemed completely unperturbed. “Oh, she probably scratched herself with her nails,” he reassured me. “Look, she’s about to do it again.” Sure enough, Emma was tugging at her other ear, looking like she was trying out a comedy routine.
“It happens all the time,” he added, which made me feel a bit better. I like to think that the subsequent inquiries regarding lead paint in our home were standard questions for all parents at the six-month checkup, not just directed at me.
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In summary, waiting for the pediatrician can lead to unexpected discoveries and moments of anxiety for parents. It’s a reminder of the importance of vigilance and open communication with healthcare providers, especially when it comes to the health of our little ones.