Sorry for being MIA the past couple of days.  I was working my arse off to complete a group of purses for a mom in my playgroup.  Today I come back, not with a continuation of the story of Riley…but what happens to be strong on my mind tonight…the land of Angel.

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My Nana was a hypochondriac.  She had 5 doctors that knew nothing about each other, that each perscribed her different medications.  It killed her in the end, though her official death was listed as a heart attack.  When I was younger and frequently getting sick my father said to em in a fit of annoyance, “You keep this up you’re going to end up like your grandmother – a hypochondriac.”

It was one of those moments that stick with you – and become your greatest fears.  I never take pills/medicine because of this (and my extreme difficulty in swallowing them), I hardly EVER go to the doctor because of it.  It has always taken me a lot to take my kids to the doctor.

Then the girls came along and I learned to be an advocate for them.  I brought up all of my concerns with the doctor’s.  I found a doctor that listened, that understood the challenges, and it bolstered my need to advocate for my girls.  In the back of my head was always the concern that I’d gone one too many times to the ped with a concern.  That she’d think I was Munchausen or something, but she was always understanding and took my concerns seriously.

But then it happened.  The LOOK.  At Angel’s 2 year checkup I brought up her extreme temper again (I had three months prior), and my beloved pediatrician gave me…The LOOK.  It was full of doubt and the ‘you’re nuts’ factor as she said, “Are you sure it’s not just her being a two year old?”

My faith in my knowledge as a mother was shattered.  The fear that I’d tucked safely away came rushing back with a vengeance.  I once again fear mentioning anything to the doctor.

First, I want to get a second opinion on Angel from an orthopaedist.  I was seriously uncomfortable with what the last one had to say, and the problem is not ‘correcting itself’ as he’d suggested.  Watching her day to day increases my concern.  But I can’t pick up that phone.  Daily I think that I’ll call, I’ll get that appointment with a new ortho…but I can’t dial the number.

Second, I want to bring up a possible cause that I’d passed over briefly before and dismissed…but then Archie brought to me tonight.   It is not a happy diagnosis, and one that would likely be disqualified…but it’s a valid question…but I fear mentioning it to anyone on the medical profession.  Fear that they would look at me as a person with far too much google-time.

I hate feeling like this.  Like I need to be asking, but frozen with fear and self-doubt.  Knowing, deep in my heart, that there is something more.  Something else that explains everything…something THEY are missing.