I had a lovely field trip today with my boy; he came with me to Springfield, Massachusetts on my Research Trip To Be Disclosed Later, and though he asked about a million times "Are we there YET?" once, we got There, he was pretty happy. (And he got that cheeseburger.) Then we headed off to the pediatrician, for our fourth visit in fewer weeks, trying yet again to determine what the hell is wrong with the beautiful boy's leg. The short answer is: there is no answer. Yet. We are being referred to a pediatric orthopedist in, get this, Springfield, Massachusetts. The boy, who was only half attending to my discussion with his doc, said, "Wait a second. We were just in Springfield. Are we going back there? TODAY?" His horror could hardly be contained. Mine either, as our pediatrician's best guess about what's wrong is something called Perthe's Disease. Not particularly serious, but not necessarily a walk in the park, either, for a preferring-to-be-active nearly seven year old boy. When the desperate mom, blaming her child's mental state, asked if it wouldn't be better for him to just go back to camp already, and, you know, try to keep reasonably still while there, the doc barely even cracked a smile. "Well, not if it causes him pain." Everything causes him pain right now. It ebbs and flows, but if that's the criteria--he's going to be stuck hanging out with me an awful lot for the next few weeks.
Oh, and did I mention that the poor H leaves for nearly a week in L.A. on Monday, a trip he's actively dreading?