Staples Earned. Lesson Learned.

Today we had a little incident.   A physical education incident.  Actually, it was a not-paying-attention-to-what-we-were-doing-and-subsequently-gashing-our-head-open incident that happened to take place during physical education.  The poor coach was left to mop up the mess, literally. 

Anwyay, when I answered the phone this afternoon, the voice of the school teacher on the other end said something like, "Your daughter is ok.  She's doing fine. She does have a gash.  Most of the bleeding has stopped.  May need a few stitches."  Etc., etc.

So after ten minutes of calling, thinking, pausing, gathering items, making arrangements, and finding a babysitter, I drove Duke-style through midtown as quickly as I could to aid my little middle child, Chocolate.

To my relief, Chocolate was perched on the lap of her teacher, smiling and laughing and talking up a storm.  But one look at the side of her head, and I knew she need first aid skills that exceeded those of her journalism-major mother. 

We headed straight to the pediatrician's office, and without much ado, they said, "Yep.  She needs staples," and, "Nope.  We can't do those here.  You need to go to the hospital.  Not just any emergency room.  Definitely go to the children's hospital."

I had been somewhat prepared for that verdict, and relayed the news to Chocolate, adding, "Your grandparents live close to the children's hospital.  Maybe they can bring us dinner.  That will be fun!"

We were pumped. We were locked in. We knew the drill (we've paid our fair share of visits to that hospital).  And we were looking forward to a good, homemade dinner (or maybe that was just me).

I called my husband to fill him in and maker arrangements for the other children.  He said, "Well.  Do you have to go to the children's hospital?"

And I said, "Well.  She has a gash on her head and her shirt is bloody.   What are you suggesting?"

"Can't you just go to the public hospital?" he asked. 

I thought about it.  There is a big, enormous public hospital downtown which houses the regional trauma center, servicing gunshot wounds, stabbings, severe injuries sustained in car accidents.   It treats who-knows-how-many people during all hours of the day and night.  I'd never been to the public hospital before, only seen it from the interstate.

And I thought about the children's hospital with the sunny corridors, red wagons for patients, movies, children's library, stickers, child-sized equipment.  Every visit, while undesired, had been very pleasant.   And besides that, every person in that building was trained to deal with children and their parents.

Hmmmm....something wasn't making sense here. 

Then I remembered.

Over the summer this same child, Chocolate, had an appendectomy at the children's hospital.  It was a terrific experience, all things considered.   The staff, from the janitors to the surgeons, were kind, friendly, and colorfully dressed.   The food was plentiful and nutritious.  The Kidzone was better than Chuck E. Cheese.  

But then we started getting the bills.   And if you're gonna dance, someone's gotta pay the fiddler......and the janitor, and the surgeon, and the people who run the Kidzone. 

So somewhere between paying $30.00 for parking and $250 for eight doses of Ibuprofen, Trent reached his limit.

It reminded me of this:




I think Steve Martin/George Banks has a great point about the superfluous buns.  And I thought Trent had a very good point about saving money on a hospital.   So while I did not venture into trauma-center territory, this afternoon, I did decide to try our luck at the local urgent care center, five minutes from our house.  

And what do you know?  We were in and out in about 45 minutes at what I assume will be a fraction of the cost.

So what if the bathroom of the urgent care center was covered in someone else's vomit?   So what if I had to literally spell out several common medical conditions to the nurse?  So what if the doctor said, "You don't want these numbing shots, little girl?  Well, I don't want to have to deal with you this afternoon.  So we're even."              

All true.   But  not that bad, really.  I found it amusing (in a "we must be on 'Candid Camera'" kind of way) and was just glad that we weren't paying top dollar for what we were getting. 

But seriously, a lot of people endure a lot worse. We had very quick and adequate medical care of which most of the world will never see the like.   We have great insurance.   And we have a healthy six-year-old whose head is not gaping.   We are thankful. 

And no one's going to make my husband pay $250 for a superfluous doses of Ibuprofen :-).

The staples.  

(We provided our own Ibuprofen.) 



Disclaimer so I don't get in trouble:  Children's hospitals are wonderful, wonderful places, and we are fans -- we are just trying to tighten the belt when we can.   And the urgent care clinic was really great -- not all the bells and whistles, but more than adequate.  Hoping you don't need either one anytime soon!