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.
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.
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.
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.
"Hey, Brenda...I need a hand with this one."
What's in My Head
Andalucia Awards Baby Barbie bilingualism Bin Laden Boy Wonder BP CF Challenges Charlie Childbirth Christmas clinic Cocks comebacks Conner Cordoba cure current events Cystic Fibrosis diet dirt donations dreams environment Espana eyebrows Fabio faith family Fashion Feng Shui Feria fun funeral God Great Strides half marathon happiness health Healthcare Henry hiatus holidays Holy Week humor Iowa Jamie Oliver Kids labs letter life Lola Mall of America marriage McDonalds me mental health milestones Motherhood moving mud nutrition open book oranges panadero pancreas patience pennies Pharmaceuticals potty training privacy proverb pueblo life purge quirks random real Recipes Resolutions Rock CF Roosters rules running Salads Sarah shit shots Snowman socialism Socialized Medicine Spain State Fair Summer Swimming Pool thyroid Toddler Type A Valencia Valentine Vanilla Ice virtual race VX770 VX809 weight loss wish yardwork