The Price of Being Laid-Back

I'm the most uptight laid-back person I know. By that, I mean that while I'm completely anal about things like drawers being closed all the way and pillows facing the correct way (that's the open end facing out, in case anyone was wondering), and I worry incessantly, I'm completely laid back about most other things. In some ways, being laid back is really good. I'm not concerned about not having make up on when I leave the house, and I think that's something about me that's really great. I acknowledge that I look way better with make up on than without, but I'm not going to fuss and fret if I can't put my eyeliner on. I don't especially like dirt or clutter, but, as evidenced by the state of my house, I often can't be bothered to clean, especially when there's a Moving Up marathon on TV. I know cleaning will get done when we get around to it, just like I know I'll cut my hair when I get around to it (or, more likely won't have to since it's falling out so dramatically).
Yesterday was Baby's four month check up, and he was supposed to get another round of shots. I called Anthem last week to find him a pediatrician, since we weren't going to drive an hour every time he needed to see a doctor. Anthem gave me the name and number of a pediatrician here in town, and I called and set up an appointment for this morning. I was a little worried because I knew that at least part of the street where the doctor's office was located was in a less than desirable area of town. I wasn't too worried, however, because this is a town which goes from really nice to really crappy really quickly. We looked at one house, for example, which was on what our realtor called a "transitional" street. From the backyard of that house, we could see mansions that cost upwards of $600,000. So I wasn't too concerned on our way to the doctor's when we stopped passing mansions and started driving through an area that closely resembled the Bronx. Husband started making comments like, "Why the hell would someone put a doctor's office here?" or "Why the fuck would Anthem send you here?" but I tried to ignore the ball of dread that grew as each block reminded me more and more of Tremont Avenue. The dread didn't go away as we approached the doctor's office. The doctor's office was a huge two-story brick building that hadn't been landscaped or had any type of aesthetic appeal ever. We had a hard time figuring out which door to go in, since they were all covered in greenish blinds and had no sign directing one where to go. Our first attempt at finding the pediatrician's office led us to an attorney's office. The receptionist at the lawyer's office told us how to find the pediatrician, so we walked out the door, around the building, through a set of double doors with the greenish blinds on them, up a set of greenish stairs, and into a room with about 20 blue, plastic chairs lining the walls. In each plastic chair sat either a sick child, a sibling of a sick child, or a parent/relative/caretaker of a sick child. While I went to check in, Husband and Baby went and claimed the only empty seats left in the room. It was about 11:10, and our appointment was at 11:15. I wasn't holding out a whole lot of hope that we'd be seen at 11:15.
I took the clipboard and form and sat down next to Husband. He was nervous and kept glancing at me and fidgeting. He also seemed to be trying to stay calm, and played with Baby a bit, while I wrote down insurance information.
Then a Small Child wandered over to Baby. Baby was sitting calmly in his carseat, staring at the toys we'd attached. He had three toys on his carseat, Multicolored Lion, Baby Keys, and Yellow Cow. Small Child, who seemed to be about two years old and not much bigger than Baby, decided she wanted Yellow Cow. She'd take a few steps, stop, then take a few more steps, until she was within reach of Yellow Cow. She extended her arm and wrapped her tiny fist around Yellow Cow. Small Child's mother jumped out of her seat and yelled, "Small Child! You get away from that toy! You're going to get that baby sick!" As soon as Small Child's name was called, and she, her mother, and four siblings went through the door to see the doctor, Husband took Yellow Cow off of Baby's carseat and told me not to let him have it. Yellow Cow has now had it's first visit through the washer and dryer.
I brought the form and clipboard back to the receptionist, a frazzled looking older woman with papers stacked high up on her desk. While I was waiting for her to take my form and copy my insurance card, I noticed the doctor's rules, one of which was "Cash or check only. We do not accept credit cards." Husband and I never carry cash, and we use our checkbook even less. I explained to the receptionist that we didn't have cash or checks with us, and asked if she'd like to reschedule. She directed me to the pharmacy downstairs and said they had an ATM. Husband sighed and ventured downstairs, only to return two minutes later without cash. The pharmacy downstairs did not, in fact, have an ATM. I informed the receptionist that the pharmacy downstairs did not have an ATM and offered to leave and reschedule. She told me that really wasn't necessary and I could just go downstairs to the ATM. I reminded her that Husband had just discovered that downstairs did not have an ATM. She said that was fine and she could either give me an envelope to mail in payment or we could run to the bank. I conferred with Husband, who appeared to be about to start twitching, and he said, "Let's 'run to the bank.'" He picked up the carseat and sprinted out the door. I told the receptionist we were running to the bank and would return shortly. She commanded me and Baby to stay and let Husband run to the bank on his own. I told her I'd try to catch them, walked out the door, and did not return.
On the drive home, between various combinations of swear words, Husband and I decided we'd spend some time finding a doctor for Baby that was in an area where we felt a little more comfortable. We tried putting in the zip code for my school (a fairly affluent zip code) and found a group practice with high patient satisfaction rating. After about an hour of phone calls to Anthem, our old pediatrician's office, and the new pediatrician's office trying to get his medical and immunization records send in time for today's appointment, we finally decided it would just be faster to drive the hour to the old pediatrician's office, get the records ourselves, and drive home. So that's what we did. In the future, I might consider being a little more proactive when it comes to stuff like this and not let Anthem decide what's best for my baby.