Danny had his 9-month check up this morning. The receptionist checked us in. While we waited, a child who got their after us was called. Later, I find out that Dan's chart had slid from the nurse's inbox so she didn't see it right away. Oh, okay.
Next stop, the scale. Naked, Danny weighs a whopping 16 pounds 7 ounces. I make the nurse weigh him again. Sixteen and a half pounds seems pretty light, especially since Jim keeps saying how much heavier Danny feels. The nurse records the weight on his chart, then notices something peculiar. The chart is pink, instead of blue. Apparently, for the past nine months, my doctor's office has been tracking his growth on a chart meant for girls. Great. So instead of being in the 50th percentile for weight, as we had thought all along, he's only in the 10th percentile. (For the uninitiated, this means that 90 percent of males his age are bigger than him.)
I'm not too worried about the weight. He's hitting developmental milestones, he's healthy, happy and eats like a horse. It's the inattention to detail that bugs me most. Yes, everyone makes mistakes. But these people's mistakes could literally kill someone.
Finally, at checkout, the receptionist asks, "Do you want to make his 15 month appointment?"
I say, "I should probably make his 1 year appointment first, don't you think?"
A friend warned that the receptionist at this particular office was a little bats. No kidding. My doctor's office thought my 9-month-old son was really a 12-month-old girl. Jim asked how thoroughly the doctor examines our son.