Just a Poke Here and a Poke There

So after gymnastics today, I was tasked with taking the Monster to the urgent care facility near the gymnasium to get his foot looked at.

The Monster’s not too fond of going to the doctor, or folks playing with his feet.  So imagine what it’s going to be like, having to take him to the doctor to have his feet looked at.

So my first impressions: I think that urgent care facilities should be more “down” with what it means when a parent says – up front – that their child has Autism.  And by “down”… I mean “generally aware of what Autism is and how it might affect someone coming in, but without obvious preconceptions until their caregiver gives you some more information”.  I was trying, genuinely, to be nice and to coach the staff there through what he probably would or wouldn’t be willing to do, given how he’s been in the past at the doctor… and yeah.

For instance, he’s just not going to sit there with a pulse-ox thing on his finger, even if it’s “not going to hurt”, and trying to explain to him why it’s important is somewhat like talking to a wall.  Moreso than the average four-to-five year old.  He’s not fond of standing on the scale either.  He was, fortunately, willing to at least do that much for long enough for the tech to get his weight and his temperature.

The PA was more well-intentioned, and didn’t seem to understand why some of her suggestions weren’t seen as ‘viable’ by me.  They have a few different kinds of things they can have a parent use to limit his mobility (so they could get at his foot), but I pointed out (finally succeeding) to them that it was probably just most effective if I wrapped my arms and legs around him to hold him in place.  She kept trying to engage him in conversation, which is well meaning… but as I tried to explain to her (and failed), basically the only things he’s going to want to talk about are Sesame Street, letters and numbers, and probably not even that much with a stranger – getting his name out of him was nearly impossible.

It turns out that what he had in his foot was a few shards of glass, probably from a container that the baby threw into the foyer a few weeks back and that didn’t get caught on our frequent sweepings.  The ordeal tired him out so much that he was compliant to my putting a band-aid on it (he hates band-aids too), and he fell asleep on the car ride home.

In retrospect, we probably should have taken him to his usual pediatricians practice, where the staff is used to him.  Additionally, I should have brought the iPad to keep him entertained, though he was very good in the waiting room aside from one outburst.  At least his foot’s okay now.

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