Friday, July 11th

Poor Sand Crab.

He calls home and gets grumpy Mrs. Crab, who is searching for a lost Blockbuster DVD, weathering perpetual mouth-noises from Jack, hearing reports of Charlie having a "tummyache", and trying to finish packing suitcases.

This is after determining that there is no -- as in NOT ONE -- in-network provider in all of Greater B-N. This is after loads of laundry and no lunch yet.

And for Major Crab, this is after the Dept. of State down-graded his MTV crib to be free of phone and internet service. Poor Sand Crab...his bride, ever quick on the Right Thing to Say, observes that it might make sense for the Dept. of State to no longer want to pick up the tab for DOD employees' phone and internet. Naturally, Sand Crab is highly experienced with military requisition/supply chains and is convinced he'll not see the DOD approve and provide service during his tour.

Jack and I took Charlie to Speech and PT with a run to Target (TM) for socks, a dratted black faux-leather ($6.99--cheap!) belt, diapers for C, and snacks for the J-crabs. Also found 2 DVDs for Charlie's b-day next week...new releases from Backyardigans and Little Einsteins. AND, of course, some delightful Natural Instincts semi-permanent hair colour (DESPERATELY OVERDUE)...Hazelnut (aka, Medium Brown) #20.

Home for his ABA program and the Great Search for the Missing Thomas Tank Engine DVD, due tomorrow. After much under-my-breath cursing at the cluttery castle confines and a clearly-audible threat that the Nintendo DS (recently unearthed after 2 months after it was hidden by a frustrated mom) could remain behind if the DVD was not located. Jack ended up finding it, so he lives to see another day and play another DS game.

Sitter #1 arrives at 2 p.m. I depart for my favorite destination: Von's.
Home again to unload before departing to Fetch Jamie.

But first...retrieve Friday's mail. Voila: a gift from my friends at the School District. In addition to an IEP meeting notice for Tuesday there is a second envelope from the Boundaries Office. Note: Placement (that is to say, the kind of classroom -- particularly when it's to be a separate class/self-contained class/special day class -- designated for a child is a decision that federal and state law MANDATES (not suggests, not endorses, not recommends, not casually mentions) be a decision that includes the parent. Well, the Boundaries office -- before Charlie's IEP team has met to write an annual IEP -- has somehow been informed that Charlie will attend Bay Park Elem. in the Non-severe Special Day Class effective 9/2/08. If this little gem had been delivered in a Priority Mail box with insurance and giftwrap, it wouldn't be more of a gift to an attorney. TOTAL violation of procedural safeguards and absolute evidence that the parent is not part of the process.

Now, at last, get in the car and drive across town in Friday traffic to retrieve Jamie, before proceeding on to the Naval Hospital. Am really embracing my Stork-ness for parking purposes.

And then the bottom falls out of the day. As usual, Jamie and I arrive 15-minutes before his 4:35 p.m. appointment time only to be seen more than 30-minutes after the designated appointment time. When the pediatrician comes in, Jamie is wired for sound. For the child that rarely utters 2 consecutive sentences to an unknown listener has become Jack-like in his narration. Actually, a rambling man. To wit:

Dr: "How itchy is your rash?"

Jamie: Never once making eye contact with the doctor: "Well, hmmmmmm, let's see, on my rating scale of 1 to 10 points, ummmmm, let's say I'm under water droplets. When I'm in the tub with that cereal packet it's, about, I'd say five and a half. But if the air is touching me, like if I'm at home or at Torrey Pines, I mean Admiral Baker park, then....huge pregnant pause with itching...it's more itchy than that."

cereal packet = colloidal oatmeal bath
Admiral Baker = day camp

The child-centric interview went on like this before the doctor started looking things up and paging the on-call dermatology person. But Jamie continued to ramble about various topics, including some completely off-topic ones. Now this doctor is not a spring chicken, is chiding me for coming in on a night/weekend, and is already running late. Three times, I gently suggest that Jamie SHUT UP. Then, WHAMMO, the doctor whirls in his chair with an angry tone of voice and asks Jamie,
"What is the reason you are not doing what your mom is asking of you?"

Jamie smiles and says "because...because...because...I don't know."

Doctor: "That's not a very good reason to ignore your mother."

Jamie does the wrap himself in a ball routine and looks away. And then he's done being participative...for the next half-hour. No more talking, no more eye contact, and plenty of boo-hooing/rubbing his face/sagging/etc.

By the time the Derm resident and the pediatrician (off to see the next patient) return, I'm livid because I'm stuck with Disobedient Child-turned-Hysterical Child. Now instead of a pale rash, he has an angry red rash on flushed, tear-streaked cheeks. Not the same look for the Derm resident.

After the beginning consultation with the two, the peds Doctor has to pick off the scab of disobedience with this beautiful question:
"Does he always react that way to correction?"

At this point, having been trapped in the exam room for more than an hour with inconsistent phone service and an evening's plans going up in hydrocortisone ointment, I looked him square in the eye (proving at least one member of my family could do so), and said:

"Do you want to hear the excuses I could give you for his behavior? The child has been miserable for 7 weeks and this is our 3rd trip to the doctor. I'm frustrated -- and I don't itch and look weird. This is no excuse, but it is his reality: Dad is gone for 14-months, his mom is pregnant and grouchy, and he lives with 2 siblings with autism. Oh, and he's waiting for you to tell him whether he gets to go on an airplane tomorrow morning. Do I like the way he's acting? No, this is not a proud moment. Do I want to continue this conversation with you at dinnertime? Not a chance."

"Oh."

To his credit, he wrote me a note for Jamie to fly. The Derm resident was perplexed. She absolutely ruled out scabies and her guess is a polymorphus photo-sensitivity, meaning that Jamie for some reason is reacting to sunlight. It is not contact dermatitis, it is not eczema. Derm consult in the system finally. (Note Jack's derm consult went into the system in May for four problems and the earliest he can be seen is Aug. 20..."Maybe"). Oh, and we don't like to use the steroid cream on the face for more than a week. (He's been using it since June 14). But we don't have any other options so keep using it.

So off to the pharmacy, which is nearly standing-room-only. My Patty Grace has arrived at my house and is diverted to Patty Kiki's while I have a pity-party-for-two (feeling bad for Jamie's face although not very sympathetic about his running-off-at-the-gums). For once, the pharmacy tech jams the meds into a too-small bag (vice a grocery one) and away we go with 2 new antihistamines and more ointment.

Drive like the wind home, only to discover that 5 p.m. dinner was not put away so the chicken at 6:30 p.m. is thrown out. Sitter #1 had departed at 6 p.m.; Sitter #2 was sitting in my room watching Charlie jump on the bed when I arrived home. Threw a quiet mini-tantrum that no one could wrap up the left-overs for later consumption, made Jamie a sandwich/fruit and had some cheese-on-bread. Medicated the boys, got Jamie in the "cereal tub" and slowly became human.

But wait, Sitter #2 scheduled for a 4-8 p.m. slot, enters at precisely 7 p.m. and asks how late I need her. I say, "I was hoping you could actually stay for your entire shift." Wrong answer! "Oh, my parents are having an anniversary dinner tonight so I'd like to leave as soon as you can spare me." Wrong answer! "Here, I'll sign right this second." No good-bye, but my dear Aunt Patty Cake will certainly tell me that the time has come to call the agency.

7:40 p.m.: Enter Patty Grace. The woman is a saint with her corporal work of mercy unto my grayness and spiritual work of mercy unto my attitude. I sit this morning with ZERO grayness, which is pretty challenging to accomplish with just a hazelnut semi-permanent, and very soft locks, courtesy of conditioner. (photo once I have It was a lovely evening of visiting and noshing on sugary items and eradicating signs of stress and "advanced maternal age" with, aye, some interruptions from the peanut gallery -- mostly Charlie.

Watched episode #1 of season #3 of the Closer on DVD as an after-color treat. Sure that it made my hair even softer and more lustrous!