The doctor is...in!

I am so thankful that we live in such a small little town. I've loved this town from the first moment we set foot in it, from the little downtown post office to the antique fairs and festivals to the Wal-Mart. We don't even have a Starbucks. One of the things I love best is that it really does have that old-fashioned small-town feel.

Our pediatrician is no exception. They have one receptionist, one nurse, and the doctor himself. That's it. They know all their patients (and most of the parents, too) by sight if not by name, and they truly care about their patients. It's easy to get the nurse on the phone if you have a question during the day, and by night the doctor returns your call from the answering service within 10 minutes. Not because it's a marketing scheme, but because  he really cares and because it's the right thing to do. I know. I've done it.

Last Tuesday, I had to call the doctor not once, but twice. For not one, but two different accidents.

First, I called because Will fell out of his crib Monday evening. I'm very thankful that I was standing just a few feet away, hanging clean laundry in his closet. I turned my back as he was playing for just a moment (and we all know that's how long it takes - just a moment!) and heard a thud. I turned around to find him on the floor. Good Lord, I must have moved fast because I don't even remember getting there. He was understandably surprised and scared, but otherwise unhurt. I spoke to the nurse, explained what happened, and said he didn't seem to be hurt but did I need to bring him in for a check? She reassured me that nope, they don't need to see him as long as he's acting normal. She also reminded me that "this one be the first fall, Mom."

Then, when I picked him up from the babysitter later that day, he'd had an accident with her. He was playing in the driveway with her two boys, and fell and hit his head on the concrete. He ended up with one of the biggest goose eggs I've ever seen, and it swelled up and turned all kinds of unnatural colors within minutes (this happened right before I got there). I got him home and it looked so bad that DH and I decided to call the doctor, again. It was after hours so I left a message with the answering service. As always, the wonderful doctor called us back within minutes and reassured us that he would be fine. The only warning sign to look out for was repeated vomiting - in which case, he would meet us at the Emergency Room.

After everything the poor kid had been through, I was a little worried about how he would fare through the night. I gave him a dose of Tylenol in case he had a headache (I sure wouldn't blame him if he did!), and I'll be the first to admit I snuck in a few times during the night to check on him. Of course he was fine - I just can't help being a paranoid mommy!

If all that wasn't bad enough - the next day (Wednesday), he was standing on the other side of a closed door when I opened it. I should have checked, but I didn't - the poor kid got smacked in the head with the door, and cut his forehead and nose. I still haven't figured out how that happened - but I felt just terrible.

Thursday he had his regular 18 month check-up. Everything went fine, although with all his bumps and bruises I'm thankful the doctor didn't think I was beating him!

Not a great picture, but you get the idea. It's even worse now!