The doctor dilemma

Has anyone else noticed that being a mom sometimes feels like being the administrator of a corporation?  Maybe it's just my inflated sense of self-importance, but it gets the job done.  Anyway, if you know me, then you know that I've been a bit disenchanted with our pediatrician's office.  Why?  Well, they diagnosed my son with PDD-NOS and then left me feeling like this:

I wasn't feeling like this because I was shocked.  My initial spectrum research a year prior to this appointment told me that this is where Isaac landed in A-land.  I felt like this picture because they officially diagnosed him and did nothing else.  "Is there anything I should be doing?" I asked.  "Nope, you're doing great- everything you should be doing."   The question I should have asked was, "Shouldn't YOU be doing SOMETHING?"  Like referring me to a neurologist?  Like running blood tests to make sure he's getting what he needs while on this strict diet?  Like seeing what kind of at-home behavioral therapy we were using?  Like knowing more than me about this stuff?  And if you don't know more than me about this then at least have the common courtesy to not look at me like I have three heads for my kid's diet, and not lump me into your preconceived notions about moms who believe in bio-medical treatment with your condescending "warnings" about upcoming vaccines.  Don't worry, white-coat, he's getting vaccinated- just not on your schedule.

Sadly, so much of medical care today has turned into a drive thru experience.  Yes, I'll have one order of spectrum disorder with a side of nothing.  Thanks.  The only reason I trust their quick diagnosis of Isaac is because I had known it for a year before anyone said the words.  I hope to see the day when pediatric care is more than writing scripts, giving vaccines, and throwing around diagnoses with no follow up.  But I'm not holding my breath.  When I really think about it, it blows my mind that a pediatrician can have the guts to spill the beans about autism and not have the common sense, compassion, or time to ask some questions and run some tests.

Deep breath...

The good news is that I think my for-the-time-being answer is right in front of me.  I took the time to take myself to the doctor today.  I've been putting off getting my foot looked at, but my wardrobe isn't appreciating the furlough from running.  I've crossed the line from casually curvy to chubby cheeks.  Not cool.  Even more not cool was the list of things she was sending me to get x-rayed and tested for- bone spurs, gout, *cough* cholesterol *cough*.... Um, excuse me, doctor?  While you're at it, can you check my birth certificate and make sure I'm only twenty-five?  But this is what I love about my family practitioner; she errs on the side of caution.  This is the woman who obliged ordering a blood test for me during a post-tubal ligation pregnancy paranoia.  I asked if she was taking new patients and if she'd be willing to work with me on ruling out some of my pdd-nos paranoia.  She asked why I was unhappy with our current pediatrician and I told her everything I just told you.  She agreed that seeing a neurologist should be standard procedure for spectrum kids- especially ones with a family history of epilepsy.  Looks like we found Isaac's new doctor.  End of dilemma.  For now. = )