I realized over the weekend that Jack has been running to the bathroom constantly. After it dawned on me that this had been going on for the better part of a week, I started going with him to see what was happening each time he jumped up to yell, "I gotta tinkle!" and ran to the nearest toilet. What was happening? Nothing. "Jack, did you tinkle?" "I don't know, Mom. Did I?" Awesome that he thinks I'm omnipotent but not awesome that he has no sense of his own bodily functions. Well, except for knowing how to make his penis feel "cold and tickly" but that's a conversation I'm trying desperately to repress. Anyway...
I expected the nurse to blow me off when I called to see if this was a concern. She didn't which sent my hypochondria by proxy into hyperdrive. Bladder infection? Juvenile diabetes? Parasite that somehow crawled into his penile meatus? I needed an expert opinion STAT.
We get to the office and nurse B is taking care of us. Dr. G has two nurses, both competent, but I prefer nurse D. She's warm, friendly, patient -- all qualities that I'd consider vital in a pediatric nurse. Nurse B is brisk and competent which better suits an O.R. nurse but hey, I'm not the hiring manager for Brandywine Peds so what do I know? Anyway, nurse B says she needs a urine sample (I'm now groaning internally) and that I have to wipe Jack's penis with a swab before he goes. She finishes by saying, "It's going to feel very cold and he won't like it but too bad, it has to be done." Okay, agreed on the "too bad" and "it has to be done" but seriously, why plant in his head that it's going to be cold and that he won't like it? She and I are supposed to be a team, damnit. I drag him and The Girl to the bathroom, me wondering why nurse B chose to work with children when she obviously has NO IDEA how their minds work, him protesting loudly that he doesn't want a cold "peanut" and Madam singing "I've Been Pooping on the Railroad." (Seriously, name any song and she'll find a way to work poop into it. It's amazing. Disturbing but amazing.)
I whip his pants down, wipe his johnson before he knows what hits him and hold the cup up to him. He goes from crying about how cold the wipe will be (already done, Einstein) to laughing when I tell him that I'm holding his pee cup which makes me his toilet. He wiggles, he jiggles, he scrunches up his nose and makes his "I'm concentrating really hard" face but nada. Nothing but a toot. Nurse B acts like I failed the "good mother" test when I return with the empty cup. She's about a foot shorter and 75 lbs lighter than me so she'd best be watching her step. Dr. G comes in and the room lights up (yes, I have a benign crush on him. Not b/c he is hot but b/c the power to save my children's lives or at least clear up their snotties is pretty sexy.) He feels around Jack's abdomen, can't find his bladder (which is good) but feels stuff in his colon (not good.) Really wants me to get a urine sample; nurse B sends me home with the used cup and one wipe. Yeah, this sample will be oh-so-sterile. The Boy squeezes out a few drops in the back of the van in the parking lot (thank God for the potty in my van) and then a few more at home. I decide this is good enough and pile the dynamic duo and the sample back into the van to drop off a golden-shower-in-a-cup for nurse B. When we get there, the flood gates open and Jack practically fills the cup while I stand guard outside the van. Turns out, his bladder is fine and all this is most likely from constipation. He's on a stool softener for a few days and no more chocolate.
We finished the afternoon at Chuck E. Cheese otherwise known as The Place Where I Will Spend Eternity If Heaven Won't Take Me. Now I just have to decide whether to keep him home tomorrow or risk him blowing his colon out at school if the Miralax hasn't worked it's magic before it's time for him to leave.
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