Anne TootillTo Be or Not To Be a Mother - Part Three
March 6th 2007 19:08
I went back to the Allergist/Internist for an allergy shot. He had decided that he would use the shots to try and desensitize me to the things in the environment such as mold and dust mites. I had so many, many food allergies that he basically said I was a lost cause in terms of allergy shots but that hopefully over time, as I stayed away from the foods I was allergic to -just about everything a person ‘not on a feeding tube’ would eat- I would eventually be able to eat them again, on a rotation basis, meaning once every four days.
I took the allergy shot and it definitely made it harder to breathe. He told me it should pass but if it got worse at night I should call his emergency number and he’d get right back to me. Knowing that he would be there if I needed him made me feel, although not breathe, better.
After the allergy shot I took the kids (of course where else would they be if not with me) and went to the front desk to pay. Josh was all over the place. Opening cabinets and squeezing into places he shouldn’t, as I became more and more anxious trying to get him to behave, while still trying to maintain an aura that I’m not some crazy mom who screams at her children and physically yanks them around. Of course nothing I said was helping the situation –remember Josh seems to zone out during these times- and my heart was racing, my face was turning red and the tightness I had in my chest from the allergy shot was getting worse.
Just then a woman from my allergy testing group came up to me. I know I must have looked like a wreck. At least I felt like one. But apparently, she didn’t notice, instead she launched into long-winded discussion of the hard time she was having with her six or maybe it was seven year old, son who had ADD (Attention Deficit Disorder). How hard it was for her to control him and take him places. I suppose I should have laughed at the bizarre nature of the situation. I mean there I was struggling with my three year old who was all over the place and into everything as she was complaining how hard her life was. Never once noticing how hard I was having it. But at the time all I could think of was, here was a person who could understand me. We had something in common. Something to commiserate about. So I said to her that my son was very hard to handle as well thinking that she’d smile and give me a knowing nod. You know what she said (in a tone that was devoid of compassion but full of annoyance)? She told me that my son couldn’t possibly be as difficult as her son because her son had been diagnosed with ADD and that I had no right to complain. Then she huffed off as I attempted to finish writing out my check to pay the bill my son escaping my grip and racing off to open yet another cabinet. The office staff alternating between disapproving glances and their stern admonishments of, “could you please watch your child”.
By the time I buckled the kids in and got behind the wheel of the car my breathing was awful and there were tears in my eyes. But when the kids talked to me (pretty much baby talk since neither was really speaking much) I fastened on a smile and choked back the tears and spoke in that loving mommy voice.
I took the allergy shot and it definitely made it harder to breathe. He told me it should pass but if it got worse at night I should call his emergency number and he’d get right back to me. Knowing that he would be there if I needed him made me feel, although not breathe, better.
Just then a woman from my allergy testing group came up to me. I know I must have looked like a wreck. At least I felt like one. But apparently, she didn’t notice, instead she launched into long-winded discussion of the hard time she was having with her six or maybe it was seven year old, son who had ADD (Attention Deficit Disorder). How hard it was for her to control him and take him places. I suppose I should have laughed at the bizarre nature of the situation. I mean there I was struggling with my three year old who was all over the place and into everything as she was complaining how hard her life was. Never once noticing how hard I was having it. But at the time all I could think of was, here was a person who could understand me. We had something in common. Something to commiserate about. So I said to her that my son was very hard to handle as well thinking that she’d smile and give me a knowing nod. You know what she said (in a tone that was devoid of compassion but full of annoyance)? She told me that my son couldn’t possibly be as difficult as her son because her son had been diagnosed with ADD and that I had no right to complain. Then she huffed off as I attempted to finish writing out my check to pay the bill my son escaping my grip and racing off to open yet another cabinet. The office staff alternating between disapproving glances and their stern admonishments of, “could you please watch your child”.
By the time I buckled the kids in and got behind the wheel of the car my breathing was awful and there were tears in my eyes. But when the kids talked to me (pretty much baby talk since neither was really speaking much) I fastened on a smile and choked back the tears and spoke in that loving mommy voice.
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