The sadness of toddler veins

Otter has been struggling with this cold, and on our eleventeenth doctor's visit, I asked, in semi-desperation, what we could do to boost his immune system. The doctor said, "Well, basically nothing... but we could do some testwork to find out if something is interfering with his immune system's ability to fight off illness."

Now, on first glance this sounds reassuring, doesn't it? Do some simple tests, get an answer, remove the obstacle, fix the problem, healthier kid, right?

Until , as a somewhat anxiety-prone mama--

--and I come by it honestly; my mom is prone to... umm, being aware of possible worst case scenarios. So I too have this tendency. (Vigilant! aware! able to foresee and protect the child from possible hurt! Really, it's an under-valued superpower.) Back to our story--

until I realize that immune system problems could include nasty big things that are wrong. I cannot list these things, as I have, wisely I believe, chosen NOT to go on the internet or to our parenting books and look up all the horrid things that could cause my child to be somehow less than super-strong, immune-system-wise.

And until, more crucially, I find that testing Otter's immune system means testing his blood. Now, I'm sure you all know this, but to test blood, you need first to remove it from the veins. We have undergone this process with Otter before, testing for anemia and lead (a recurring test, which we've done at least twice a year). That's not been so bad; quick jab, quick filling of the little tube(s), and home we go. Not fun, but okay. We've been pretty lucky.

This time, for some reason (our phlebo-luck ran out? ha ha not funny Latin-ate blood-tech joke there), it did not go so smoothly. When the tech got the tiny needle in Otter's right arm, she couldn't catch a vein. So she pushed the needle further--no blood flow--and in another direction--no blood flow--and in yet another direction--no blood flow--pulled it back a bit and pushed it back in in yet another direction, chasing the elusive toddler vein... still no blood flow. Repeat that sentence a few times like a parental nightmare mantra--try again--no blood flow--try again--no blood flow. Not a soothing chant.

Okay. This took about forty-five seconds to a minute, maybe two minutes, not longer, I'd guess. That's not at all long if you're watching a movie, or eating lunch, or reading a blog, perhaps. But it's a very very very long time, when what you are doing is holding your toddler as his wails gradually build in intensity and volume while you watch the blood tech gently but firmly jab a needle around inside your child's entire elbow area. I can only imagine that his poor arm is going to have a big big bruise, and be very very sore.

During this time, I am sounding calm and collected and telling Otter repeatedly that it's okay to be mad and upset, that he can cry if he wants, that I know it doesn't feel good, that it'll be over soon, and that he's being very very good.

Of course, after this interminable two minutes, she can't get a vein, and we have to start over on the other arm. So as soon as she pulls the needle out of Otter's right arm, I have to tell him we're NOT done; we're going to try it all over again on the left arm. But you'll get a purple bandage to put on the arm after we're done. Different tech, only a couple tries, blood comes pretty quickly. And once the needle is in, we can see the blood come out, and go in the tubes. Isn't that interesting? What color is the tube, Otter? What color is the blood? We're almost done, honey, just a little bit more... Damn the blood is slowing down and the second tube isn't filling up--no more jabs no more jabs please make it flow again--okay there it goes... there it goes, see, what color is the top of that tube, we're so close to being done, okay, there we are... ALL DONE! See, they're taking off the squeezy arm thing, and putting on a bandaid, and then the purple bandage on top. How many purple bandages do you have? One on each arm now? Two? You were so good, Otter.

This is not my idea of a fun start-your-morning-right experience. Thank goodness, Otter rebounded quite well, and we rode "up-a-stairs" in the elevator to get paperwork for the new baby's pre-admittance pre-birth birth certificate, and then went out from the "hosbiddle" to take Otter off to daycare to show off his purple bandages.

I don't enjoy these things, but I have to say, I think so far I've been pretty good at them, if being able to stay calm for your kid and help him understand what's happening while you hold him down and have people do painful things to him is, in fact, a skill. I remember when they had to try forever to put the IV in his hand when he had surgery at four weeks old, though thank goodness they numbed it first, and the ER nurse was all surprised that I could hold Otter and talk to him and stay calm and not freak out and run away sobbing.

What good would that do anybody? The child needs you, and tiny baby or toddler veins are hard to find, and the medical staff are doing their best and it's a necessary procedure.

That said, when I went to drop Otter off, I stayed and held him on my almost-non-existent-seven-months-plus-pregnant lap while he ate cheerios and drank water. And then I went home to do work with a headache.