URGENT CARE GERMAN STYLE

URGENT CARE GERMAN STYLE Miss Pudding is wheezing so we ask about a doctor. Turns out Urgent Care is next door. Petite becomes hysterical. Absolute terror about being in a medical facility (in the waiting room). Is crying and freaking out begging us to take her outside. But we can’t. I’m holding Miss Pudding and Hubbie is trying to check us in. She’s completely hysterical. We finally get to see the doc. Who speaks English. Miss Pudding is now crying (of course) because the doctor is scary and she’s only 4 years old! The doc seems irritated and says she can’t possibly hear Miss Pudding’s breathing with the stethoscope because M.P. is crying too much. WHAT? I show her M.P’s inhaler and explain that in the past she has been given a liquid or inhalant steroid. The doctor says it is not possible for her to do this (wtf?) And we must give her a suppository. Which I refuse to do because seriously, M.P. has no idea what that is and wouldn’t you be freaked out if someone shoved something up your butt? Plus, I know there is another option – liquid steroid. In a huff, the doctor finally calls the pharmacy and then reports that the pharmacy does not have the appropriate child medication so we will have to go to the children’s hospital. It is now 9pm. The kids have been in the car since 10am, haven’t eaten, are sweltering and completely freaked out. I ask the doc if possibly, another pharmacy IN THE ENTIRE CITY might have the right medication and can she just give me a prescription? “I don’t have time to call all the pharmacies!” she barks. I’m ready to slap her but restrain myself and ask again can she just give me the prescription, I promise I will give the suppository (not). Finally, prescription in hand, the nice receptionist jots down (illegibly) the address of closest pharmacy. We pile in the car and set off (thank god for GPS). The pharmacy is closed but supposedly is open 24 hours so I ring the bell. The pharmacy slides open the little mailbox and I hand her the prescription, crossing my fingers and toes. She glances at it and asks if the doctor is the one who called her a half hour ago. Shit. Then I notice she is pointing to the word “spacer” on the prescription – the inhaler that we HAVE already for M.P. The one the doctor SAW that we have. We don’t need that. We have one! “Oh”, she says, “in that case, no problem. I have the medication you need”. What? That dumb ass doctor. I am so thankful to get the medication. We give MP the inhalant and she seems a bit better.