Visit to the doctor

Biscuit and I were home with pink eye today. I hated staying home from work over something so simple, but pink eye is very contagious, so Biscuit couldn't be at day care. Plus, it made my sight so blurry that it would've been hard to stare at a computer screen all day.

We've had bouts of pink eye before, so last night, when I figured out what was going on, I went to the medicine cabinet for the drops we used last time. It was just my luck that the expiration date on the drops was June 2011. I know they say some medications last past their expiration dates, but I didn't want to take any chances with something that was going in our eyes.

I called Biscuit's doctor and made an appointment, then I broke the news to Biscuit.

He was so excited. Yep. Excited.

"We're going to the doctor, Mom? COOL!!!" Biscuit said.

Biscuit's doctor is in a big office building, and as I pulled into the parking lot, he looked around and said, "Yep. This is the doctor's office."

We rode the elevator, which apparently was very cool. And as we walked into the office, Biscuit immediately walked over to a mom and two kids and said, "I'm Griffin. That chair is red. Red is my favorite color."

The little girl was talking to her mom and didn't really acknowledge Biscuit. The boy was using one hand to slide beads around on one of those twisty wire things with the wooden base. When Biscuit walked up, the boy slid the toy toward the middle of the table like he was offering Biscuit a chance to play. I thought that was really sweet, but when I got to a position to see the kid's face, I realized he had the index finger on his free hand shoved middle-knuckle deep up his nose.

Seeing that, I sort of encouraged Biscuit to come over and read one of the books I had stashed in my pocketbook. We only read about two pages when the nurse called his name. We went back and Biscuit stepped on the scale. 29 1/2 pounds. He's still a little guy.

As a matter of fact, when I told my brother, he said, "Dang. A sack of taters weighs more than Biscuit does."

The doctor came in and spoke to Biscuit and me. He told Biscuit he was going to get his light set up and then he was going to check him out.

As the doctor started setting up, Biscuit reached down and pulled his pant leg up above his knee. I couldn't figure out what he was doing at first, but then I realized why HE thought we were at the doctor.

Labor Day weekend, Biscuit and I were in Georgia visiting family, and Biscuit tripped and went skidding across a concrete driveway. He completely removed the top layer of skin from his knee, and it bled and bled and bled. He was really tough about the whole thing and never actually cried. The sore healed, but he has about a quarter-sized slightly pink circle still on his knee.

Ever since he fell, Biscuit has been asking if we could have the doctor look at his knee. When I told him Jeff was going to the doctor last week (he had bronchitis), Biscuit asked if he could go with him because his knee was still hurting. I know his knee is fine because the only time he ever mentions it is when he sees it.

But as we were sitting in the doctor's office, it occurred to me that even though Biscuit's right eye was swollen almost completely shut, he honestly thought we were there to have his knee checked out.

The doctor rolled his stool over to the exam table, and Biscuit was looking down at his knee. I could tell that the doctor hadn't even noticed Biscuit's pants leg being pulled up, so I said, "Griffin fell a couple of months ago and has been asking ever since then if the doctor can take a look at his knee."

The doctor was so nice. He shined the light on the pink spot on Biscuit's knee and said, "I think you boo-boo looks really good. I think Mom should give it a couple of kisses, and it'll be okay. Now I need to look in your ears and nose and eyes, okay?"

The doctor emailed a prescription to the drugstore we use (ain't technology grand?!?), and Biscuit got two cool stickers. I was so glad the doctor humored us and looked at Biscuit's knee. I was also secretly glad I wouldn't hear anymore about how the boo-boo on his knee still hurt and how he needed to go to the doctor to get it fixed.

We gathered our stuff and headed out of the office. And I'm still surprised at what Biscuit said as we were walking down the hallway.

Biscuit was holding my hand, and he looked up at me with a concerned look and said, "Mom, I don't think my knee is really better."