Two posts today.  A rogue post escaped.  Must have been the robot.

I have a pretty good idea what it is like to be a personal assistant for a celebrity. A star is so busy with important things; the mundane like check-ups are postponed for months. God forbid the regular schedule get interrupted. If there is an emergency, some serious manipulation takes place and a lot of people are involved to make it happen. How do I know what it’s like for someone with VIP status? I have a high-school student.

VIP

Today’s high-school kid has it a lot tougher than I ever did. If I took a sick day or two, it wasn’t a big deal. This cannot happen for 21st century students. So much hangs on high school performance to get into just the right college in order to launch a fabulous career. Students must achieve the highest GPA possible and that means never missing class. Pediatricians readily offer up flu shots to curtail any possible chance of illness. Pediatricians know the VIP drill.

If a high-school student plays a sport, missing practice for ANYTHING is like shooting the athlete in the foot. Starting positions or possibly all play time are lost. Athletics today aren’t any different than in the eighties. I know; I tried to study for a Spanish test instead of going to basketball practice. I didn’t play in the next game. Missing a practice is worse than missing school so if a VIP has to choose, an appointment during PE is a good option. Moms memorize schedules for this very reason. Orthodontists are in on the PE plan too. This is how it works in the land of VIPs.

For my high-school VIP, I schedule all appointments after football season, during the holiday breaks or weekends. I am not thrilled with the after-school options as appointments mess up the carpool and take some rearranging with two or three other parties. It also means taking an extra driving shift to cover it all.

God forbid there should be a follow-up visit. Some physicians want to give the best care and don’t think about VIPs, only the patient. Were they born in another country? To the VIP and his manager, a second appointment is scarily irritating. Every minute in an appointment means less time for studying, another carpool switch or skipping class. When it comes to a high school student, the perspective is warped.

However, it all seems very normal, working our lives around a high school student. We want the best for them. Anyone servicing a high school student knows it or we think they should. It’s what we come to expect.

Recently my VIP broke his collarbone. I was surprised by the discrepancy between the physicians who understood the life of a VIP and the ones that didn’t see him as being so special.

Go Pro. I see it now.

Luckily, in my son’s collarbone case, he incurred his injury on a Saturday during rugby practice. We didn’t see the weekend convenience at first; we were focused on getting my son better and not his schedule for once. And the ER doc only thought about his future in sports, “Collarbones usually heal on their own. However, if your son is going to play professionally, there are things we can do.” That kind of VIP thinking was above and beyond my expectations. I took it as a compliment. We are not on that plane.

But the break means A LOT of doctor visits. And wouldn’t you know, finals are around the corner. This is the ultimate VIP challenge.

I place a call for one of his appointments. As VIP manager, I of course think we should get what we want. I have his schedule memorized and am armed for the negotiation.

“How about 8:30; 9:00; 9:30 AM in two weeks? The doctor is only in on Wednesdays,” the young assistant generously offers. She has a VIP too and it isn’t mine.

“Ah. He, he, he. I’m sorry he’s in HIGH SCHOOL. He can’t miss class. And he has FINALS.”

Silence.

“You know, HIGH SCHOOL. FINALS.”

In the back of my mind I start to think, “Ok. This sounds kind of stupid. Who is the whack?”

We settle on a Wednesday the week before finals at 11 AM. “BAND! Yes! That will work!” She didn’t celebrate with me.

I was surprised to interact with someone from a different land of VIPs. Now I’m starting to crack, break out of the VIP mode. It’s a feeding frenzy to keep the cycle going. I’m losing focus. The appointment maker’s silence was deafening.

I’m sure if we had to drop everything to fix up my son, we would figure out finals. We would figure out how to fit in all the appointments. He would survive and make it into a college that is perfect enough and he would become the fine, upstanding citizen we hoped. It would seem ghastly, but it could be done.

Like any parent, I give the VIP treatment to my son because I love him and want the best for him. It’s hard not to do everything to make the world perfect for him. As we experience some out the normal scheduling moments with my son and his injury, my husband and I have come to realize his life is overscheduled. Everything is planned, no spontaneity. A schedule break is usually TV and it shows.

His reactions in pre-op were straight out of a Breaking Bad episode. Before surgery, a patient is given a relaxing medicine to eliminate any memory of the operation. As the “magic juice” kicks in, my son says, “Wow. This must be what it is like to get high. Now we just need some dramatic music.” He breaks into a drum and cymbal beat.

“I just like to take the boys out for walks. We talk and just let things happen,” says my husband.

I feel more relaxed just hearing him say it. I don’t think I can stop the VIP merry-go-round, but we can hop off once in awhile and recalibrate.