My Worst Visit to a Pediatrician: Wheezing on the Road
Trips to a pediatrician can be scary for children. One vacation introduced my family to a doctor who can only be called Dr. Crankypants.
It Started Out as a Fun Family Trip
One year, my parents took us to visit relatives in New Hampshire. It should have been fun! I got to see my maternal grandmother. My mother’s older sisters. Like my mother, all of them had come over from France after World War II.
This time, I don’t remember seeing my aunt, Simone. Or her husband, a mechanic. Or my grandmother, who lived with them. Let alone my cousins and their kids.
My favorite memory of their house in Manchester, New Hampshire, was that my uncle had replaced the front lawn with lots of white pebbles (on top of a liner). Those pebbles were fun to play with, even if he yelled at us when we played with them.
Did I play with my cousins’ kids during this trip? Did we play with the little white pebbles in the front yard? Or with board games? I don’t really remember.
I don’t remember much of this trip. Because the visit was spoiled by an asthma attack and a visit to the office of Dr. Crankypants.
What Went Wrong?
Our other stop was to visit my mother’s other sister, Juliette, who lived in the town of Greenville, New Hampshire, more than 40 miles away. She had a lovely dog with long hair.
Whoops! At this point, we didn’t realize how sensitive my allergies could be.
We soon found out. Before long, I was wheezing my little heart (and lungs) out.
The Wheezing
The word “wheeze” dates back to the 1400s. Wheezing truly describes the sensation of trying to breathe when you have an asthma attack, and your body says, “Nope.”
Wheezing is not fun.
My parents were at a loss. My regular pediatrician was a saint. But he was more than 400 miles away. The usual solutions did not work. (Anyone remember norisodrine? Yuck!)
They called Simone and asked her for the name of a pediatrician. She gave them the name of a renowned pediatrician in Manchester.
By now, it was nighttime. So my parents had to call his emergency number to find out if he could come in after hours.
And we had to drive back to Manchester. Through the back roads.
The Doctor’s Visit
Mercifully, I have no memory of the drive from the small town to Manchester.
But the doctor’s visit? I remember that!
Let’s call him Dr. Crankypants.
To be fair to Dr. Crankypants, he probably had to leave his family or an important event to go to his office and help complete strangers.
On the other hand, “Phhhhbbbbttt.”
Isn’t that part of being a pediatrician?
Yes, Dr. Crankypants was cranky. And brusque. And grouchy.
My regular pediatrician was an angel with needles. He got you so interested in what he was saying that you didn’t realize the shot was over.
Dr. Crankypants got me on the examining table. Suddenly, my naked butt was in the air. And he was jabbing me hard in my naked butt with a needle.
Dr. Crankypants did not seem to care when I started crying.
At least I was able to breathe again.
Once I stopped crying.
On the way out, I saw the little bowl of lollipops the doctor’s office kept for regular visitors.
I remember glancing at them and wondering if Dr. Crankypants would at least give me some candy.
Nope! I didn’t even get a lollipop.
It sure made us appreciate my regular pediatrician.
If you like my stories, or if you want to read more stories by authors like me, please click here to upgrade to full membership. This is an affiliate link, meaning I receive a financial incentive for new referrals.