Fuck Right Off and Die!

Firstly, I had a fucked up morning... So let me go ahead and extend a fuzzy FOAD to the dentist my son went to see this morning. My son lost it... bad. Yes, it is entirely on the Boogerman that the situation happened. My son was such a big chicken, I think I saw a feather or two fly out of his mouth. He is being appropriately punished for his role in this.... HOWEVER- Had the good doctor done what I suggested in the first place, instead of giving me the brush off and ignoring me, everything would have gone as scheduled.

He asked me to wait outside, because "Many kids look to mom to get sympathy." I made it clear my son wouldn't do any such thing, and I offered to restrain my son for him so he could do the lidocaine shot. The doctor declined, and gave me some bullshit spiel about being "easier to handle kids if mom wasn't there".

Like a good and accommodating woman, I stood on the other side of the wall, out of sight-out of mind. My kid started freaking out worse because he thought I left. The fucktard almost got his fingers bit off. After fighting with my kid for 20 minutes (that's no exaggeration), he came and asked me to help out... Well, welcome to the smart-party, shithead, can I get you a drink?

Of course by that time, the kid was so traumatized, we didn't stand a snow balls chance in hell. He was pretty much sure we were going to kill him with the lidocaine needle. End result? Reschedule (a whole month out), and I got to take my valium/hydroxyzine drugged kid home with cavities unfilled, to stumble up the stairs and miss school. Next time they are going to try demerol. Wonderful! Drugged, stumbling and PUKING child... then I will have to carry his 55 pound ass up four flights of stairs.

As per par, doctors think they know everything- so fuck you, buster. Maybe you should listen to the person who lives with the kid everyday.... Do I strike you as a push over, worry-wart, over protective soccer mom? You Fuckbag. If we had pinned his ass in the first place, my life, and yours would have been easier, you know-it-all peckerhead. The trauma wouldn't have been a 75 minute ordeal... it would have been over with quickly.

One more thing... after you have spent 45 minutes fucking freaking a child out, then ask him a yes or no question, when he is on the verge of hyperventilation- and totally drugged out of his gourd- don't expect him to call you "sir", unless you plan to start calling me "Your Benevolent Highness".

Best pass on to your technician that there is a difference between being stern and being a bitch... She doesn't get to tell my kid that he is being a brat. I was around the corner, not on mars, whore. Not what to do. You can tell him to stop, you can tell him to be quiet and be still, you can tell him the consequences of his behavior- you DO NOT call him names. I didn't call you a silly bitch, did I? It's your job to keep your cool under difficult circumstances- that's why you work in Pediatrics.

FOAD, and thanks for a lovely time... you dickheads.