Doctor: *waving me off* “Ask the receptionist when you check out. I want you to set up an appointment two weeks from now at our location in [City 30 minutes away] to get her next vaccines; I don’t do shots. Also, I want to see her back here next week so that I can check her weight. Does she have any other follow-up appointments?”
Me: *internally cringing at the thought of seeing this lady again* “Yes. She needs to see an audiologist. I just got the contact information for them yesterday. I was going to call them today, once we left here.”
Doctor: “Call them. She needs to go to that appointment. What about her eyes?”
Me: “She had her eyes looked at earlier this week at [office]. They gave her eyes a clean bill and said they don’t need to see her again.”
Doctor: “Do they need to see her again? What did they say?”
Me: *internally sighing* “They said her eyes are fine; she doesn’t need to go back.”
Doctor: “Good. But what about her hearing? Did they say anything about that? Do you have an appointment? Who with? When is the appointment?”
Me: “I haven’t made the appointment yet. I just got the information yesterday. I’m going to call them today.”
Doctor: “Make the appointment. Call them. She needs to go.”
Me: “Okay.”
(This went around and around a few times, with me confirming over and over. When we got to the checkout counter, I told the receptionist what the doctor said, and she was surprised. I asked if we could see someone else for the next appointment, and was told that until the doctor released my daughter as a patient, we had to see her again. The entire next appointment, unless I interjected or physically placed myself in front of her, the doctor directed every comment, question, or concern to my mother, who simply gave her a deer-in-the-headlights look. I assumed this was because though I am in my 20s and married, I look younger and the doctor assumed that I was some high school kid that got knocked up. Feeling frustrated, and still needing to get formula, I called the NICU that my daughter spent the first weeks of her life in. I explained the situation, and the charge nurse was very understanding and apologetic for my experience. She told me what formula they generally send preemie babies home with, and told me that I could pick it up at just about any grocery store with a baby section. I looked it up so that I could get a picture of the container to ask my husband to bring it home. Then, out of curiosity, I checked the paperwork with the prescription formula that the doctor gave me, and it was the same thing! I am currently looking for a different pediatrician.)
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