Beauty and the Beast

Lola is by all counts, a Tomboy.  She'll take a dump truck over a tiara and happily sport a pair of Incredible Hulk underpants any day.  When we found out that we were having a girl I ran out and bought dozens of pretty pink dresses with matching tights and shoes.  And much to my dismay, they hang to this day, up in her bedroom closet like last week's special at the deli counter.  Untouched. 

But yesterday was different.  We had a turn.  A turn towards femininity as my diamond came out from the rough.  I pulled up in the driveway to a little girl clad in a matching pink short outfit and dripping with good taste.  As I cut the engine, I heard the hollow jingle jangle of 35 multicolored plastic bracelets slide down to her elbow when she threw up her arms to greet me.  A crooked bow pinned down a chunk of hair unwilling to be tamed and a gangle of baubles dribbled down her chest, each one tangled in the next.

My Tomboy now a Beauty.

Clinic, and by that I mean CF Clinic, was just two days away.  We had to race over to the doctor's office to get her chest xray and labs drawn so that they would be ready and waiting on Wednesday for the Good Doctor.  I let experience park the car in front of radiology and we practiced saying "Cheese" as we strolled through the parking lot - me with a purse full of medical orders and she with a purse full of Matchbox cars.  The lab would take the backseat.  I knew better this time.


Jingle, jangle
Jingle, jangle
Jingle, jangle


We made our way to the waiting room and sat alongside the grimmacing woman in the foot cast; Lola accessorizing her right, then her left, then her right arm again and again as the clock's giant red second hand swept around and around.  I worried that they wouldn't get a good, clear image of her lungs.  And that she'd be pissed about having to take off her "jewelry" for the shot.  Lucky for me, the technician was a mom too and knew just how to stroke Lola's budding fashionista ego.


"Love the snazzy jewelry you have there lil' lady," she cooed.  "Wanna make me look pretty too?"
Hook, line and sinker, Beauty took the bait.  We got the lateral then frontal images in one try.  Next stop:  THE LAB.


I dread going to this place, not because I fear needles but rather the people wielding them.  I rank phlebotomist right up there with "roadkill removal crew" and can't imagine doing that grind day in and day out.  Add to it the nightmare that is taking a small child into this place and you feel my pain.


"It'll be okay honey, they just need to get a little sample from you."  It didn't even sound reassuring as it fell out of my mouth.  I offered a lame, "Mama's gonna sit with you the whole time.  It'll be quick, I promise..." but by then I had lost her.  Beauty's eyes were now off of me and darting back and forth from the cheaply framed prints of deer poised at an unnaturally blue stream in some mystical looking forest to the red letters of the exit sign blaring ESCAPE HERE against the institutional beige walls of the waiting room.  One door in.  One door out.  She was trapped and she knew it.


Jingle jangle
Jingle jangle
Jingle jangle


A little hand, dusted with remnants of sidewalk chalk, reached up and grabbed mine.  I gave her one squeeze for confidence and another just because.  The woman who checked us in must have forgotten her teeth that day because she didn't smile once.  No "Hi!  How are you?" from her.  No siree, she was all business.


"Take a seat.  We'll call you when we're ready."


"Thank you very much," I replied.  As if that extra "very much" would buy my daughter a get out of jail free card for what was to come.

The tech approached as Lola's name was called.  It was like Vanna White stepping forward to turn a vowel.  She was a young one that tech - which I thought could play out one of two ways; maybe she would be one of those twentysomethings who are great with kids and win them over right away or...or...she would be the new hire who couldn't hit a vein on the first try to save her life.  Try as I may to be the optimist, I began to hedge my bet on the latter as opposed to the former.

Her loud snap of the rubber glove annoyed me.  So cliche, was that really necessary?  Beauty was now up in my lap and hoping climb into my shirt to hide.  "You're gonna hafta hold her arms and legs while I do this," were this gal's opening words of wisdom.  Yep, she was a new hire alright.  And obviously barren.  Was she crazy?  Had she gone out to her car and smoked a joint during her lunch break?  Did she really expect me restrain a bucking two year old AND keep the site steady for the draw?  Sure, I could pin a leg or two but there was no way I could keep her still enough to get the needle in and keep it in.

I sat there, with Beauty in my lap, contemplating how I was going to pull this off.  A black padded armrest saluted us at ninety degrees before it dropped like a guillotuine down in front of us.  We were locked in.  After that I heard nothing but screams pouring out of my daughter's mouth.  Her head thrashed wildly back and forth and too soon her legs fell into synch. Her frantic rhythm mimicked that of a caged wild animal desperately trying to free itself before the slaughter. 

Jingle jangle

Jingle jangle

Jingle jangle

The plastic bracelets bounced off of each other as she wriggled and fought me.  Such strength my little girl has, I thought.  I love that she has this energy inside of her but hate that it's a needle drawing it out.

"Hey, Brenda...I need a hand with this one."

Huh?  A what?  You're in the middle of the procedure.  You're asking for help now?  I looked down at Beauty's arm and saw the needle plunging in and out again and again hunting for that vein.   After about the fifth plunge, it swam to the right, then back to the left, then right again.  THE NEEDLE IS IN HER ARM YOU STUPID IDIOT, WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU?!?!

Brenda arrived in time to get kicked in the hip.  At this point I was so upset with everything that I was secretly cheering for Lola to land as many blows as possible.

"It sounds bad but she's not in any pain.  She's just mad that we're holding her down."

My vision, blurred from my own tears, was lost but my voice was not.  Through gritted teeth I managed, "Yeah, right.  Draw the frickin' blood!"  Had her whopping two weeks on the job really desensitized her that quickly?  I briefly contemplated grabbing the needle and lunging at the beast, then stabbing her repeatedly in the eyeball.  "Oh, it's not painful.  You're just upset about not being able to see, right?" would be my condolence as she rolled around, curled up in a fetal position on the cold linoleum floor. 

When it was all said and done, the tech collected 3 vials of blood from my little girl.  End to end they would have stretched wrist to elbow up my arm; each one of them filled with the deep crimson specimen ordered by the Good Doctor.  The contents of these vials would be scrutinized later as we assessed functions of the tiny organs that lay tucked so neatly inside her little body.

The draw now complete, we left the office not hand in hand but head to shoulder.  I carried my Aching Beauty out through the lobby and into the parking lot with promises of a better day tomorrow. No one accompanied us out to the car that afternoon.  It was just Beauty and I walking away from the beast, her bracelets clumsily acknowledging our feat.

Jingle jangle

Jingle jangle

Jingle jangle