If it's Tuesday, this must be Belgium

            So, here it is Tuesday again.  Must be Belgium, or in our case Syracuse.  Seriously, we seem to be running to Syracuse (or, occasionally, Philadelphia) every Tuesday. Orthopedic surgeons (we see two currently), infectious disease doctors (that one is a whole team), pediatric neurologist, ENT (for Botox), physiatrist (more Botox), low vision specialty ophthalmologist, gi doc (g-tube), and today’s flavor, pulmonologist.   I swear we spend more time in cars than an Uber driver or James Corden.  

            And those are just specialists we see regularly. That doesn’t include her regular pediatrician. Or therapy (physical, occupational, speech, and visual). Or appointments with equipment vendors, or social workers, or state health department workers, or the pharmacy.  Or all the paperwork from all of the above.  Think of the paperwork you fill out for your doctor.  Add a dozen more medications, forty plus hospital stays, a gazillion surgeries and illnesses.  Times all of that by all the people I just mentioned.  Finally, add six more pages just because. And whatever you do, don't forget to sign extra paperwork so all these docs can talk to each other, the therapists, the school, and her nurse.  And have copies of EVERYTHING to give the nurse and school.

             Plus Feisty Pants is on a dozen or so meds that we have to administer over the course of a day.  Plus FP has to be hooked to a food pump six times a day.  Plus she has to be suctioned at truly random intervals.  Goo and I sleep in shifts to accomplish all this.  Now add all those other creatures you love, family, friends, pets to take care of. A house to run. (Feisty Pants alone generates a load of laundry per day)

              Plus all these out of town runs take two people, so Goo has to give up sleep which just makes him a joy to be around.  And we have been sitting here in a crowded, overheated, little room for an hour now waiting. ( I just dare any doctor's office to threaten to not see her if we are ever late. I will turn into an utter banshee over that little bit of arrogance.) Something is going on in one of the other patient rooms.  Doctors keep gowning up and masking and running in and out looking concerned. I cannot even complain.  We have been that room often enough. In a few minutes, the doctor and nurse will walk in and over the course of the hour (yes, HOUR) one of them will casually say, “Oh, you don’t work?” to me.  I will simply explain the Feisty Pants is my job.  I won’t hit them or yell or anything.   

               This frigging day better end in dark chocolate though or all bets are off for tomorrow.