Driving along the freeway I felt much more at ease. None of the butterflies that usually accompany me to the Red Cross hospital seemed to have gotten the memo about this morning's follow up appointment and, despite rush hour traffic, I enjoyed the trip to the children's hospital.
Maybe it was the free flowing traffic, or maybe it was one of my all time favourite songs, Johnny Clegg's Spirit of the Great Heart, turned up loud and enjoying some airtime on the radio.
Maybe it was the Boy chatting to me and waving at pushy taxi drivers and declaring Johnny's unofficial South African anthem as "lekker!"
Maybe it was because I wasn't rushing, knowing the snail's pace at which the queue of waiting little patients would be moving.
But mainly it was because I was pretty confident of a favorable outcome.
The Boy has not suffered any ear infections since his grommet operation and his teacher is happy to confirm that he is a very chatty happy little boy, stuff I already know. His vocabulary is always expanding and he makes me laugh at a lot of the funny things he says.
We park the car and scoot off to the ENT ward, hand in the Boy's patient card and settle down to wait. And wait.
The Boy had insisted on bringing a fleet of his toy cars and begged to pack them out to play with. Soon he had an audience of interested little people helping to distribute his toys among themselves. Dubious as to whether he would get his toys back he started to whine. And whine. Luckily the moms were very intuitive and prompted their kids to return his toys.
Safely packed away, the toys were swapped for peanut butter sandwiches, 2 apples, 2 lemon creams and some juice. He sat on the blue plastic folding chair swinging his legs and humming and munching while an avalanche of crumbs collected on his chest. Still having a tiny corner of his stomach not yet filled he discovered a chip on the grubby floor dropped by the child behind us. Before he could pop it into his mouth the child's fast thinking daddy offered him the last chips from their bag. He kindly polished that off too. Because, of course, we don't feed our child enough, just look at him...(!)
Finally we get to see the audiologist, it is the same lady we saw last time.
She explained the same game she needed the Boy to play with her - drop the blocks into the bowl when he heard "the birds singing". She held the hand-piece in front of his forehead and started the test. He must have been waiting for her cue because he seemed hesitant to drop the blocks, almost as if he couldn't hear her.
Mama starts to feel the butterflies waking up.
She decided to whisper some questions to him from behind her cupped hands. He answered all her questions and I was slightly more relieved. She seemed happy with that but not yet convinced. She asked a colleague to come help her by distracting the Boy while she stood behind him and used her bird singing device.
Set on the lowest softest frequency she held the thingamajig just behind and next to each ear and waited for a response from him. Mama was as tense as a tightrope and let out an audible sigh of relief each time he turned his head towards the noises. Hallelujah! He could hear it!
Then I get pissed. The audiologist is happy with his hearing however, since he didn't seem to grasp what she wanted him to do right at the start, she suggests I take him for a developmental assessment. According to her he should be understanding her requests. Now I know he is just fine, I have no concerns about his development, his teacher is a friend and she would fill me in on any concerns she may have.
The Boy is big for his age and is often mistaken for being older than he is but being just 3 and a bit I reckon he was just being polite and waiting on a cue from the therapist. She fills in a form for the developmental ward and attaches it to his file.
We go outside to wait again, this time to see the ENT doc. We don't wait too long. A good thing too as I've now had enough.
The doc checks the Boy's ears and declares him to be just fine. I resist the urge to hug him.
The receptionist nurse fills in the paperwork and declares, with a smile, that the Boy is indeed discharged. Elation!
We head down to the Developmental ward, me dragging my feet. Do we really need to do this?
The waiting room is much smaller with a handful of people waiting. The toys are strewn across the floor and the cushions on the benches are dirty, hardly what I want to sit on for any extended length of time. A fly lazily cruises the room.
I hand my file and form over to the receptionist and she informs me that processing my request and getting an appointment can be a lengthy exercise and she could probably only phone me back in about 6 months. Really? Fabulous.
I leave it at that and decide that if, and when, she phones me I'll decide what to do then.
The Boy and I head out of the hospital, leaving the doors swinging shut behind us.
My little Great Heart has done well, and hopefully his ears will remain trouble-free.
This chapter is over.
The End
No comments:
Post a Comment