The Specialist.. arg!

I took Ezra to a urologist yesterday and OH MY, the doctor was so frustrating.  When the doctor came into the room he started talking to Ezra and of course Ezra responded with English, because he’s used to answering all the same generic questions.  After the simple questions, I told the doctor that he only spoke Kinyarwanda and not English.  But of course, what do I know… I’m just his mom.  So the doctor asked Ezra “do you understand me?” and Ezra said yes.  Mind you, if he had asked Ezra if he wanted his arm cut off Ezra probably would have said yes that that too.  

So the doctor started asking Ezra how old he was and Ezra just repeated the doctor’s words.  This happened twice so I finally told the doctor that Ezra was three and the doctor looked at me like I was an idiot and said “I know that!”.  *sigh*  Then he kept going, asking Ezra how many birthday’s he’s had—Serisouly???? They don’t do that in orphanages!!!  If the doctor had given me the chance to talk, we could have avoided such frustration.  The entire appointment had one ignorant frustration after another—the doctor decided that it was his job to start teaching Ezra how old he was, how to count and how to hold up 3 fingers (I’m so glad, because I’ve never thought of that).  The entire appointment felt like the doctor knew more about all kids, my kids, and that it was his job to communicate Ezra and that I was a nuisance.  Don’t get me wrong, I love people taking time with my children, teaching them, loving on them… but this just felt different.. condescending.

This all made me REALLY appreciate our family doctor!

And now, on a lighter note, some starwars battle photos--staring: my children