Monday, August 29, 2011

lab work

Fletcher grows. He's taller than about 75 percent of kids his age, but still underweight in the ninth percentile. His face continues to age and his second molar is poking through the gums already.

The only other thing I learned at the doctor appointment was that when you ask them, "How do you draw blood from a toddler?" and they answer, "The same way as adults," they are NOT joking, but they totally should be.

"He's so strong!" both nurses had the nerve to say as needles were dug mercilessly into BOTH of his tiny arms. Despite the fact that these women were ADULTS and trained nurses, Fletch continued to move his arm under their supposed grasp and wail as I've never ever heard him wail before, except maybe the last time we put him in the hands of these nurses (a year ago) when they failed to take blood from his feet.

And the nurses took absolutely no blame for this recent abysmal failure, instead coming up with a few excuses about "fluids" and Fletcher's upset state, and completely ignoring the fact that he entered that room in absolutely perfect condition for lab work.

Come back?

Yeah no.

A letter arrived in the mail the next day with an ultimatum that he needs to have his blood drawn before the end of September.

Here's my ultimatum:

Get a damn nurse who can hold down an underweight 15-month-old on the first try because no way in hell am I putting him through that again.

Even now, it makes my eyes fill, because I know when the next attempt comes, I'm going to have to do it. I can't trust them. I'm going to have to bruise his soft arms just so he can get out of that room faster. I have to be a monster because once again it seems like you can't trust the hard stuff to anyone but yourself.

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