Doctor Day

Friday morning Jim put a smiling Charlie on the bus at 7.40am. 40 minutes later, my phone rang: The school nurse. A month and a half ago, he'd had impetigo and it was back. As I rushed to the middle school to pick him up, I started to make mental calculations about the possibility of us being able to get to the 8-9am walk-in clinic at the pediatrician's office. Ordinarily I would just have taken him home and called for a later appointment but, on Friday, we already had a doctor's appointment, with the pediatric neurologist..........in Pennsylvania at 12.30. Factoring in the time it would take to get there, the likelihood of the doctor's appointments running late, and traffic, something told me that we would not make it back in time for an appointment with the pediatrician, and the school nurse had made it clear, no school on Monday unless Charlie got medicine and a doctor's note.

No school, and a not-so-happy boy......

I called the doctor's office and the only morning appointment would have not left us enough time to get to Pennsylvania. I mentioned about the neurologist appointment and the nurse and I went around in circles about times and finally she laughed and said "Just come in before 10." I laughed too---it was pretty clear what needed to be examined and what needed to be prescribed, and so off we went. And all would have been well except that the pediatrician's office is not in our town, or in the next town, or in the town next to the town next to us----it's in a town almost next to (sorry; there are a lot of towns and townships in our spot of New Jersey) (and they all have their own school districts) (but that's for another post). This is to say, it wasn't just a hop, skip and a jump to get to the pediatrician, it was more like a routine half-hour drive, unless the southbound lane of the road (the one we were on) is, as it was on Friday, shut off with cops all over and traffic redirected towards a nature reserve area with winding roads that don't appear to lead back to suburban Jersey locales.

Now wait a moment, perhaps you are thinking. Why is she going on and on about going to see doctors a couple of towns or townships over and in Pennslvania?

Charlie's been going to the same pediatric practice for the past five year and a half plus years, and to the same pediatric neurologist (who was working in New Jersey when we first met him) for four and a half plus years. There are several doctors and a nurse practitioner at the pediatric practice and Charlie's seen most of them. The nurse practitioner gave him the vaccines he should have gotten at 5 when he was 8; prior to giving them to him, she was glad to talk about concerns and worries (which I didn't have at that time---our biggest concern was getting Charlie into school in a new school district). The other doctors have almost all been very good with Charlie, speaking to him directly and clearly (especially as it's been awhile since I could hold him in my lap to have his reflexes tested or his blood pressure taken) and being patient and compassionate.

The pediatric practice is in an old multi-leveled house and the waiting room is very worn and the TV blaring away (Shrek 2 was on yesterday) but Charlie seems to be ok waiting, even when there's a crowd of children of every age sneezing and coughing, along with their parents. Charlie had smiled and called out the name of the neurologist with a smile when I mentioned to him earlier this week that we'd be going. After the neurologist left New Jersey to work in Pennsylvania, I tried to take Charlie to a psychiatrist and a neurologist who were close by us, with less than promising results. (Both immediately said, up the meds.) So Jim and I decided, let's just make a day trip of seeing the neurologist, who listens carefully to us, observes Charlie equally carefully, and never watches the clock.

One reason that some are opposed to NJ De-Institutionalization Bill A3625 is that the developmental centers have their own doctors, dentists and other medical professionals with experience providing for the developmentally disabled. Without health, what can you do?----it would not be good for Charlie if he weren't able to go to school on Monday, due to the impetigo (yes, he's been taking an antibiotic). Most of the doctors and dentists who Charlie sees aren't specialists in assisting individuals with developmental disabilities. Charlie has learned to handle the waiting room, the waiting in crampt exam rooms, and being prodded by stethoscopes, and to follow what the doctor says.

After the detour, Charlie and I made it to the peditricic practice and left with a prescription and a doctor's note. We went home to meet Jim, who drove to Pennsylvania. After the longish trip---certainly over an houCharlie walked into the clinic that he's been to several time and we heard a little anxiety and, after proceeding a bit further, he was over-stimulated and crouching on the carpet. Jim and I sat with him, a nurse brought ice and stood by quietly, and then we went to sit in the waiting room for over an hour, while Jim and I tried not to watch a terrible remake of The Little Rascals. When it was finally time for Charlie's appointment, the neurologist took his time going over the details of Charlie's past months, writing to a colleague about some of our concerns, and listening, while Charlie stretched out on the exam table.

Afterwards, with snow flurries swirling, we hurried through a parking lot to a nearby McDonald's (where I discovered that we still had $2.40 left on the Arch Card my aunts gave Charlie) and then headed home to Jersey.

As for how I first found both of these doctors---chance and circumstance. I chose the pediatric practice because it was near the town we used to live in and had several doctors and a daily walk-in clinic. We met Charlie's neurologist because the doctors recommended to us were no longer taking patients, and Charlie and I used to wait two and even more hours to see him. And the inconveniences of driving through terram incognitam of New Jersey and crossing state lines into Pennsylvania are far outweighed by the simple evidence of seeing Charlie glad, or at least ok about, seeing the doctor, and doctors who, for the most part, are not specifically trained to see autistic children and who seem quite glad to listen.

Really, we would drive---walk---500 miles to take Charlie to a doctor who he wants to see.