There's a First Time For Everything

Today was a follow up visit to the pediatrician; we wanted to discuss whether or not Sarah should go on medicine for her ADD. He wants her new teacher, Mike and I to fill out "observation paperwork" to decide what the next step is. After he reads the responses, then he'll decide what to do.

I told him that I want Sarah to be tested for hypothyroidism. It runs in my family and better to rule it out than to wonder and worry. With much "umhuh" and head nodding he agreed that would be a good idea. He wrote out a scrip for the lab to test for that and anemia too. He said that anemia doesn't cause ADD, but it doesn't help it either. (I'm the mother, why didn't I think of that?)

So Sarah and I walked across the parking lot from the doctor's office to the lab, taking the smallest baby steps she could. If we had walked any slower, we would have been going backwards. I knew Sarah was nervous, but it needed to be done. Of course, I'm a boring grown up. I have blood drawn every six months and am used to nurses jabbing me like a pin cushion. Sarah hasn't had blood drawn since she was two.

To quell her fears, I gave her a play-by-play of the day's proceedings. First, we take a number and wait. Then they call us and I have to fill out paperwork. When they're ready, they'll call us.
"Where's the room, you know?" she asked. "It's around that corner," they told us. When it was our turn, her baby steps became smaller. I had to lead her into the room where they draw blood. I could see she was nervous, but took it as a good sign that she didn't have to be removed bodily from the waiting room.

In "the room" the workers--a man and a woman--asked if Sarah could sit on my lap. Kind of hard to do, now that she's almost as tall as me. She kept sliding off my lap. I almost slid out of the Naugahyde seat. It wasn't until the reality of the situation settled in that she started to panic. She must have thought they were using a hack saw on her arm. It took two grown ups to hold her still while she cried, screamed and thrashed while the man pierced her arm with the needle.

The woman told Sarah to keep still, or else it would be more difficult to get the needle in. I tried covering her eyes with my hand, but Sarah pushed it away. Her skin grew hot and clammy. Her hair became sticky with sweat. Then it was done. Two vials were filled and while she was crying on my lap, the technicians asked if she wanted to see the blood.

Big mistake. Sarah imitated a fainting goat and slumped over. Funny how a fainting person's weight increases, Sarah gained thirty pounds instantly. The female technician and I carried her over to a bed where it took ten minutes to calm Sarah down. Sarah said things like, "I can't feel my arm," and "My tongue feels funny." In order to drink the cool water that was offered, Sarah had to lap it up like a dog. When she felt better we took extra small baby steps back to the truck and went home.

I kind of hope she doesn't have hypothyroidism. If she does, Sarah will have her blood drawn every six months.