Dr. Doormat


I really appreciate the feedback as it helped to get different perspectives as well as validated my feelings that what is going on is not normal. I couldn’t focus my thoughts enough to write all that went down regarding the mark but I have now even though it seems disappointingly irrelevant at this point.

I saw the mark on Bunny’s bottom, early Saturday evening as he was undressing to take a bath. It was such an unnatural color that at at first I was sure it was paint or marker – that he must have sat in egg dye or something. But when I casually asked him what the mark was, he confusedly looked behind himself and exclaimed he didn’t know, almost as though he hadn’t noticed it before. At that point, I looked closer and realized, it was not, in fact, any sort of paint or marker or dye, it was his skin. Not only was it bright, bright red but it was also warm to the touch, much like a sunburn and it was slightly inflamed, the red part of the skin, rising slightly above the fair part. The difference, though not apparent at first, was actually very distinct, as the mark was precisely rectangular. That’s when I grabbed my camera, under the guise that if he could clearly see the mark, maybe it would help him remember what happened, but even though he gamely agreed, he absolutely could not tell me how he got it.

Understanding that he might be afraid, I told him that I would absolutely not be angry with him no matter what he told me, but that it was important that he share with me how he got hurt so that I could keep it from happening again. Bunny didn’t get upset or angry. On the contrary, he was practically disappointed when he couldn’t remember anything, as though he were letting me down. I tried specifics as well. I asked him if a kid had done it or a grown up; he said neither. I asked him if either his mom or his dad hat hurt him or caused the mark. Again, he said no. I knew he had attended a birthday party earlier in the day and asked him if anyone had hurt him at the party or if he had gone anywhere or done anything that might have caused a mark like that. Again, nothing.

I asked him if it hurt, and he shrugged casually saying it stung a bit. Finally, after spending nearly a half hour gently trying to coerce the information out of him, I gave in. I told him to read a book and that I’d be back to help him into the bath in a few minutes. First I called Dr. D’s hospital, knowing it was a long shot (he’s an ER doc, after all) then I nervously called Winifred. Trying to keep my voice light and airy I asked her if Bunny had gotten hurt at the park during the party. Bewildered she said no, not that she knew of. Why? I explained that I had discovered a mark on his bottom.

“Oh that!” She exclaimed. “Yeah, I saw that. He must have gotten it at the party. It’s weird isn’t it? Almost looks like a burn.” Yep, I agreed. She continued that she’d forgotten to have Dr. D look at it before he left for work that afternoon. Completely unconcerned she thanked me for calling and mentioned that if Bunny wanted, after his bath, I could put some calendula cream on it and that was that.

For the second day in a row, I was shocked by the response from this mother, this social worker and was dismayed that this otherwise very caring and intelligent person could be so completely blasé when confronted with information questioning the very safety of her son.

It freaked me out.

And what do scared 19 year old girls do when they find themselves in crummy, overwhelming situations?
I called my mommy.

Luckily, we live only ten minutes away from Calamitous Casa, so I hurried about, anxiously cleaning the kitchen while Buddha rambled in his highchair, waiting for my mom to come save the day.

Unfortunately, gone are the days when simply her presence could make even the worst of scenarios, bearable, but she did hang out with Bunny and kept him occupied while I dealt with Buddha and the dinner clean up. And after their bath (during which nothing suspicious happened) she read books with him while I put Buddha to bed. She didn’t fix it all, but knowing she was there definitely calmed my nerves. I was having visions of calling CPS and them laughing at me and then getting fired only to be arrested for abuse myself and escaping from jail and having to kidnap the boys and escaping to Mexico. (Which strangely enough, my biggest logistical setback to this fiasco was the fact that neither of their cars easts are in my car.) Once they were both asleep, I thanked her for coming over and asked her to please call the therapist friend to which she gladly agreed.

Now this therapist lady, friend of my mom’s, is pretty cool and I trust her because ever since my soon to be 8 year old cousin Pepper started seeing her a while back, he’s slowly become an actually tolerable human being. I’m telling you, this woman is a miracle worker. Anyhow, my mom is friends with her through church, so she spoke to Miracle Worker Therapist Lady on Sunday and shared with her what I had observed the last couple of days. MWTL agreed that the penis incident was rather unusual and a bit too specific and she shared in my surprised that Winifred, a social worker herself, wasn’t more alarmed by the behavior. She continued that because Bunny didn’t say who or what caused the mark or how he got it, there’s apparently nothing I or CPS can do about it. Even though isolated they are strange, and combined they are rather suspicious, the two incidents alone (or together) are not enough to warrant calling the authorities as there is no concrete evidence to support any theories of abuse. She did say that I should continue to be vigilant of Bunny’s behavior in case anything else does occur to further implicate an abusive situation.

So I was rather disappointed and a bit peeved that everyone else seemed to be playing down what happened and shrugging it off as though I’m some sort of hypochondriac nanny. After Winifred left today, I did casually ask Dr. D if he figured out what had happened to Bunny’s bottom. He distractedly muttered that his conjecture was that Bunny must have sat upon or scraped it against something while at the park, but that it was healing fine … and with that he returned to the elusive land of lucid-only-to-himself-and-his-genius-thoughts bubble world that he is a frequent resident of.

So there you have it. Unfortunately, I’ve come to the end of the road at the moment with regards of what I can reasonably do. It sucks, really. I’m stuck in this warped limbo, just waiting. On the one hand, I want to be wrong, I so want to be wrong. I want nothing more to happen, no more touching, no more marks – I want to just be overreacting. And on the other hand, I almost wish something else would happen, that Bunny would exhibit the behavior once more, as it would give me a reason to take action. But as it is, I’ve been gridlocked. I’m playing the waiting game.

Whoever said patience was a virtue needs to be shot – or whatever the pacifist alternative to that is.

Advertisements

sword.jpg

The only person who spends more time than I do dealing with Winifred and her neuroses, is Dr. Doormat. Granted he willingly entered a legal contract vowing to deal with her til death to they part, while I, thank god, am free to skidaddle whenever I get too fed up. Over the past two plus years that I have been under their employ, we have developed a unique sort of bond. (No, not like that, freaks.) We share a solidarity that is unique to those who simultaneously must live under dictatorial rule. Except for Princess’ mother, Winona, who shared an apartment with Winifred many years ago, there really aren’t any other people who can truly comprehend our daily plight. And so, we have forged a distinct relationship based on the fact that we alone must endure life with under Winifred. We help one another, lending a hand when we can, pitching in, so that neither has to deal with Winifred’s wrath.

Dr. Doormat casually informed me that Winifred would be home within an hour ready to clean the house as he rushed out the door on Tuesday, off-handedly adding that a friend was arriving from the airport later in the day. The arrival of houseguests ranks on Winifred’s top five list of serious stressers. One which instigates a cleaning frenzy worthy of a Clorox commercial. Dr. D then shouted an altogether far too cheerful “good luck!” as he left me with an as of yet, un-napped and clueless Buddha.

“She did quite a number on this place.” He nodded, surveying the now spotless house, upon his return.
“No kidding.” I replied.
“How fortuitous that I had plans.” He grinned.
“Yeah, way to abandon me.” I sulked, displeased.
“Hey, that’s why we pay you the big bucks.” He joked.
“No way. You completely set me up!”
“Oh, totally.”

So much for having my back.

Words cannot describe how much I hate it when a certain doctor turns on the radio and makes a racket in the kitchen minutes after I’ve put a congested and cranky baby to sleep, insisting that he’ll sleep through it, knowing full well that if and when said baby does wake up, he will not be the one who has to deal with him.

anthony_edwards.jpg

Or even McSteamy, for that matter. In fact, he reminds me more of a certain Dr. Greene. But anyway, that’s not the point. I really like Dr. Doormat. Not in the way I like Luscious Lawyer Daddy, but in a he’s a really great man and I have a lot of respect for him kind of way. In any event, he talks to me. Not in the friendly and civil, but often times trite way that Mrs. P and I converse but in a very honest, unpatronizing, often times intellectual way. He treats me, not as though I’m the hired help, but like he would treat any other person he meets. With respect. Like an equal. (Not that Winifred, doesn’t. It’s just different with her, somehow.) And he actually, genuinely seems interested in what I have to say in return. Every once in a while, if he has a spare moment, I like to pimp him for information about his work. He has some really crazy stuff. Well, last week, I asked him if he preferred working in the hospital he’s at now, or at a trauma center, which is where he used to work. He still works in the ER but his current hospital is smaller and doesn’t receive ambulatory traumas and I was curious if that made a huge difference for him. Turns out, I’m pretty transparent when it comes to my interest in all things medical, because he offered to let me shadow him at work! I get to wear a white coat and a stethoscope and basically follow him around for a few hours on a shift, to see how things really go down. I’m so stoked. And nervous. I have no idea what to expect. He got his schedule for December so I’ll probably end up going around Christmas, during the week that Mrs. Winifred is in San Diego with the boys. We still have to iron out the details but it looks like I’m gonna be a (fake) doctor for a day. Tee hee. I’m practically giddy.