Tuesday, April 12, 2011

I Can Handle Zits


Young men are different from young women. Did I ever doubt this? No, but two weeks ago, I lived it; Nathan was dreading a visit to the dermatologist, and Iz was acting like the orthodontist was God.


My son, Nathan, has always sported a very handsome face; however, like most adolescents, for the last year, it had been riddled here and there by acne. At first, it appeared nothing that Clearasil couldn’t handle. At second, it appeared to be getting a bit worse, but with images of Facebook deletion (once again) dancing in my head, I decided to be a Mom and be mum. At third, which occurred a few weekends ago, I said, “Your acne is getting worse. I’m taking you to a dermatologist!”


Of course, Nathan said, “Thanks, Mom. That would be so awesome.” Okay, I admit that’s what he says in my June Cleaver dreams. In my Jean-So-Not-Cleaver reality, he groans and asks, “Why?”


I say in a very Mom-like tone, “You’re a handsome guy. The acne just takes away from all that.” Nathan meets me in my Jean-So-Not-Cleaver reality by groaning once more and saying, “I’m not handsome. My face is fine.” I then break my Mom-like tone and say in exasperation, “Chicks don’t dig guys with zits!”


Nathan answers, “I don’t like girls anyway.” I laugh and say, “I’m making the appointment.” In my Jean-Somewhat-Cleaver reality, Nathan now sighs and says quite irked, “Fine.”


So, I made the appointment, which took me two tries given Nathan is on his Dad’s insurance. Nathan’s Dad doesn’t think Nathan can handle his own plastic insurance card; thus, I have minimal information to go from necessitating a second call to the dermatologist after talking to Nathan’s Dad. On the phone, I propose to Nathan’s Dad that he give Nathan the plastic card for his wallet, which would save me time and effort.


Nathan’s Dad says that Nathan has already lost two paper copies of his card. I want to say, “Oh, brother. Just give him the plastic card!” Before I speak, I then remember that Nathan has misplaced his car and house key about five times this last year and lost his ATM card once. I then think that perhaps Nathan’s Dad is right about the plastic card, and then I have a great idea for an invention – an implanted chip with health insurance information, ATM access, and remote keyless car entry for teens like Nate!


At 3pm the day of the appointment, Nathan sent me a text message to say that I should be outside my office at 4pm, because he was giving a friend a ride to work. He was basically saying, “Don’t make me late for my 4:15 appointment,” when he was the one who might make himself late, but somehow it could potentially all be my fault anyway. Is there “Teenagers for Dummies” book?


I sent him a text message saying that I wouldn’t be late. He then answered, “You know, I really don’t need to go to see the doctor.” I fiercely texted back, “Yes, you do!”


At 3:53pm, Nathan sent me a text message that said, “Here.” Feeling guilty that he was early and I was now technically late, I quickly shut down my computer, grabbed my things, and ran outside to meet him. I got in the passenger side door and was greeted by some punk-rap-fusion group whose CD only said to me “boom-boom-boom” every minute.


I wanted to say out loud, “Thank God, it’s only a five-minute ride to the doctor’s office.” Instead Nathan asked me how to get to the doctor’s office, and I obliged by saying, “Take a left out of the parking lot, take a right at the stop sign, and take another right into the medical office park.” He drove with a purpose, though I felt it was with the “I so want to get this over” purpose rather than the “I want to have an acne-free face” purpose.


Once in the dermatologist’s suite, I checked in. Nathan crumpled himself up into a chair. I looked at him, and then he said, “Mom, I really don’t need to be here.”


I was at a Mom crossroads. Part of me knew I was doing the right thing. The other part of me was peeved that Nathan didn’t appreciate the fact that I had made the effort to make the appointment and leave work early to escort him.


I doubted myself, and I hated when I did that. I argued back and forth with myself until a voice said, “Hey, you’re doing the right thing!” When the medical assistant called out Nathan’s name, I thought, “Thank, God!”


We walked into an exam room. The medical assistant asked Nathan a few questions, and when she left she said, “The physician’s assistant will be in to see you in a few minutes.”


I looked at Nathan. He looked at me. He didn’t say anything, but he was saying, “Mom, why am I here?”


The physician’s assistant came in and immediately went to work. She examined Nathan’s face, chest, back. I started to feel guilty as she said called out acne terms to the medical assistant; I was so hoping there would be subtitles for this very foreign medical visit!


I felt sorry that Nathan was now a medical artifact; however, he didn’t seem to mind at this point. Between poking, prodding, and assessing, the PA asked Nathan many questions about himself, which I thought was very nice. When she found out he was a Senior, she asked him where he was going to college.


He said, “SUNY Stony Brook.” I laughed, and she looked at me strangely. Last I knew Nathan loved Roger Williams.


It seemed that at just that moment, he had a college break out. I knew he didn’t want to go there, yet I knew he didn’t really know where he wanted to go yet. Sometimes kids think you don’t understand them, but little do they know, you always get them and unlike with milk and yogurt that intuition never expires.


The PA prescribed an topical ointment for Nate and some pills. She wished him well, and Nathan thanked her. When we left the office, Nathan didn’t say, “That was a waste of time.” I knew at that point that he didn't think it was, but I knew he was never going to tell me that.


Just last week, I said, “Nathan, your face looks great.” He had some dryness, and he said it stung. I told him to lay off the ointment for a bit and he said he would.


It appeared that there was better living through pharmaceuticals for Nathan; however, I had felt badly for pushing the issue. I hoped that someday Nathan would say, “Thanks, Mom, “ but I’d never hold my breath on that one. Despite my lack of self-confidence, I knew I did the right thing, and unlike many other things in my life, I’d never change a thing where it concerned Nathan’s handsome face.

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