Urine, I'm out

The following was originally posted August 6, 2009, at http://www.parentclick.com/BlogPost.html?id=1229:

We weren't alarmed when little red bumps starting rising on Jenna's skin.

Most every parent knows that mild allergic reactions can come from almost anywhere: food, laundry detergent, plants, pollen, grass. So we weren't all that concerned.

But still Crystal called the doctor to see if they could help diagnose what was going on when the bumps continued to pop up after 24 hours.

I was eating lunch when I got her first call. I opened my phone to a lot of low mumbling and a lot of screaming.

"Can you come help me?" Crystal warbled from the other end of the line, a symphony of wails, cries and shouts that were unmistakably coming from some combination of my three kids.

The diagnosis, it turns out, is HSP, of which doctors know relatively little, it turns out. It's a virus of some kind that brings about an allergic reaction and can cause a variety of symptoms that include hives, inflamed, leaking or bursting blood vessels, arthritic joint pain, and abdominal pain. It can be serious, but in an overwhelming number of cases it's tantamount to eating too many strawberries.

What the doctor needed to know, however, was whether the HSP had affected Jenna's kidneys. For that, we needed a urine sample.

It was not quite noon when Crystal called me, exasperated, begging for help. We've each learned going solo with three kids is not the optimal way of doing things. Going to the doctor, or anywhere that requires us to stop moving for extended periods of time is nigh impossible.

So I left work, headed to Dr. Dickerson's office to help my little girl go pee-pee. Simple task, right? Given the fact that she's been potty training like a champ the past week (and going just about everywhere), I thought it would be no problem.

It was about 12:30 when I arrived, and Crystal, who I already knew had been fighting a migrane in addition to our kids, was on the edge of breaking. The nurses had sent them away for lunch (McDonald's, natch), which included a healthy dose of juice for Jenna. The nurses attached a potty bag to Jenna's pee-pee parts (though I'm almost certain neither of those terms I used are their official names).

We got back to the office a few minutes before 1:00, and headed to the building's vending machines for more juice and water. Riley was all pent-up nerves, approaching slap-happy status (1:00 is their usual Quiet Time), Jenna was slightly grumpy from having a sticky ziploc bag attached to her junk, and Mason was oblivious to it all, happy just to be getting the attention.

By 1:30 frustration was setting in, and even our nifty little collapsable potty seat wasn't helping. Jenna, who is potty training, has grown to fear public restrooms, with their loud WHOOSH of a flush (her 2-year-old ears hear monsters climbing up her butt), and she mostly refused to sit on the toilet, though at home she's a veritable potty-sitting machine.

So back and forth we went, Crystal and I trading off, offering her juice and water every few moments. By 2:00 Riley was wallowing in his seat like a pig in a fresh mud pit, wailing as the other patients looked on. We luckily had anticipated Mason's needs and got him a bottle, but knew it was only a matter of time before he too demanded more attention.

And still Jenna was bouncing around the waiting room, in her "Yo Gabba Gabba" panties with the plastic bag under them, patiently waiting to collect her urine sample.

It was close to 2:30 when she started her signature potty cry: "Daddy! Daddy! Poo poo in Potty!" I gathered her up, stomped down to the restroom...where a janitor was cleaning one of the rooms while a woman snuck in ahead of us with her own toddler.

So we walked.

Finally, we returned to open rooms, popped in, unfolded her yellow potty seat and flopped her down, collapsing on the bathroom floor butt-first in front of her.

Nothing.

We returned to the waiting room to find we were missing a few--notably, my wife and two sons. I figured she was walking them around, and waited a few minutes before coming returning to the restroom for another shot. It was well after 3:00, and Jenna was tiring of this particular game. She sat on the toilet, sobbing as I begged her to just potty like a big girl. "We'll do the pee pee dance!" I implored.

Finally, a knock on the door.

"Joe? It's Dr. Dickerson. Any luck?"

"None." I said.

We returned to the exam room, and the nurse brought a little potty seat and removed the bag. We bribed (popcicles), begged, and pleaded, to no avail.

Finally, Crystal whisked her away to the toilet for another chance. Riley was red-eyed, and I was sweating. Mason was sitting quietly in his stroller, plotting.

After a few moments, they returned. Success! A few minutes later (as the clock neared 4:00), the nurse reported no issues with her urine, and no medication to treat the HSP. Time heals all wounds, I guess.

Does that include bruised parental pride?