When the doctor says 'tubes'
We sat in the waiting room of the ears, nose and throat clinic, our 13-month-old son playing with a Fisher-Price parking garage probably thousands of kids before him had played with for 10 to 15 minutes at a time.
He'd had a double ear-infection for about three months, and after taking enough antibiotics to cure medieval Europe of the Black Death, his pediatrician thought it was time to see a specialist. Parents never like to hear "specialist" unless somehow the word "pastry" is involved.
In this case, it wasn't.
"Your son needs tubes in his ears," the pediatrician had said.
The Tubes? One of the bands from my impressionable youth when everyone had bad hair? Is that what they're doing with implants these days? I'd love to have The Tubes in my ears. A little "She's A Beauty," some "Talk To Ya Later," ooh, and maybe "White Punks On Dope."
Not The Tubes, you idiot, said the voice in my head that sounds like my third grade teacher. And get that finger out of your nose.
It's amazing where my head goes when it doesn't want to be where it's needed.
An audiologist escorted us through the secret door that separated the real world from the world of needles, my wife carrying the baby, and me carrying everything else. We'd switch off later, because only one parent being a pack mule isn't necessarily fun, especially when I carry my wife's purse. Although I'd given up the illusion of a husband playing the part of caveman long ago, the purse still made me feel funny.
I sat in a soundproof booth, which I thought would be really cool every time I watched "Family Feud," and held the baby on my lap. Faint noise came out of speakers to the left and right, a Disney character lighting up as a reward every time the baby turned his head toward the sound.
His hearing is fine. Mine, I found, isn't.
But, the specialist said after making birdie noises while looking into my son's ear, the baby still had an ear infection.
You can usually judge the effectiveness of a child-care specialist by how silly they are around kids. The sillier they act, the more professional they are.
"Although it's your decision," he said, "I'd recommend tubes."
Don't start again, my third grade teacher warned.
It's tough on a parent thinking the little person who relies on them for protection is going to be put unconscious and undergo surgery, but we didn't want to see him sick or with hearing loss before he got the opportunity to listen to The Tubes.
So, in a few weeks, little spool-like devices will take pressure off our son's eardrums, ensure some really gooey drainage at some time or another, and won't play "Mondo Bondage" at any time whatsoever the doctor told us.
