Larger Child is a rare bird. He has a heart like no one I have ever met. He gets skittish sometimes... scared of what he doesn't know... and can carry with him a thought, memory or experience for years, especially if it was one of fear or torment. He is sensitive, but in a charming way. He has a strange fascination with the unusual, but it can often lead him to a fear of the bizarre. (Remember the Ripley's Believe it or not Museum.) I often forget how his fragile mind works, dazzled by its brilliance, I forget he is still a child, a child with fears, worries, stresses, hopes, dreams and fascination. So, when I saw the instant change in his demeanor when he remembered he had to go to the doctor today I knew this could go one of two ways.
Once, at his pediatrician's office, I and three other nurses had to restrain and hold him down to the table to get shots. Another time, it took two nurses and five tries to get a throat swab for a strep test. He can talk to the doctor and understand the procedures better than the average middle aged man, but when it comes to them actually touching him, beyond checking his ears, he puts even the biggest Iatrophobics to shame.
I knew this doctor was going to do allergy testing, including skin testing... I knew it was going to be difficult, uncomfortable, and possibly painful. I knew this wasn't going to be easy on any of us... but it needed to be done. I had grappled over the months leading up to it what to tell him, how much to share, and decided that our best bet was to give him just enough information to not be taken by surprise, but not enough to stress over. I am not sure if I succeeded in that balance, but we did the best we could.
On the way to the doctor's office, we talked again about what to expect, and how it was not going to be as bad as he thinks. I told him some good techniques to stay calm, and I encouraged him to pray. I explained that any time I was full of fear, if I would just reconnect with God, remember that He's got me, is protecting me, and will keep me safe, I am reassured that things will work out exactly as they should and I was going to be just fine. He took my advice, and spent a good deal of time in the car praying on the way there. It seemed to help. By the time we got in the office he was cutting jokes, and charming the secretaries.
After a quick exam, they did a breathing test, and he did great. Then it was time for the skin test. After I filled out some paper work, they asked him to take off his shirt and lay down on the table. You could see the panic begin to rise. Then some deep breaths, encouragement from mom and dad, and Tom and Jerry on the TV, and he seemed to settle in. The first series took him by surprise, he said that they almost tickled. The second set seemed to irritate him slightly, by the fourth he was starting to complain of some pain... then it was over. You could see on his face the relief and surprise... and possibly a little bit of pride. I snapped a picture of the test spots so he could see what he just went through and how great he did... he was shocked at how it looked. (Frankly, so was I.)
So, that's what happened, my recording of how he reacted and the events that transpired... Here's what the mother's heart experienced.
This morning, I woke up full of fear and dread. I prayed for strength and guidance. I knew it was going to be a long and difficult morning. I got dressed, and grudgingly went to wake up my son, who was sleeping peacefully. I felt like I was snatching up the last moments of calm in his day. When he woke up, I knew he would notice that I was dressed, and I knew it wouldn't take long for him to ask me why... I would have to remind him of what he was in for, and then he would change. He did. I saw the excited little boy getting ready for another day of school vanish and become the small child full of fear, and there wasn't a whole lot I could say to him to make him feel any better.
As we were getting in to the car, he asked if he could sit up front with me. My knee jerk reaction was to tell him no, he is safer, better protected in the back, in his booster... and there he will remain until he's twenty. But, then I could tell he wanted to be close to me. He wanted that connection, so I changed my mind, and moved my purse off the passenger seat. His nerves were nearly vibrating off of him, I asked him if he would like to listen to some music, and we surfed stations until he found something he would like. I was marveling at his opinions, the observances, and the questions about genres... grateful for the distraction. But, the distraction didn't last long... it was just a few moments before he was asking me questions again about what the skin test was going to be like, if it was needles, how long it was going to hurt... etc. It was heartbreaking. I wished there was a way to help him without going through what we were going through. I wondered if there was something I did or didn't do that caused his allergies and asthma to begin with. I wondered if we didn't do it, what the rest of his life might be like, if these things remained untreated. I considered cancelling the appointment all together, completely out of fear. I didn't want to see my baby hurt. Bottom line. I kept this thought as a viable option until we got in the elevator. Then I knew it was probably too late.
As a mom, I have learned to keep it together even if my head is spinning in a zillion different directions. I have learned to fake calm and serenity in front of my children, not to let on that there is anything beyond total collected peace I my eyes. BUT, that still doesn't stop me from holding his had as we are walking down the hallway, or wrapping my arm around his shoulders in the waiting room, scooping him up into my lap in the office waiting for the doctor, or wiggling my body in to a position to where I can at least hold him with one hand while he was getting the testing done.
I stood there next to him, watching the process, watching his reaction, like an untrusting tiger mother... nearly growling under my breath while they are putting the irritants under his skin. Gauging his reaction each time as to whether or not I should call the whole thing off, throw the nurse against the wall, scoop him up and go running out the door. With one hand on his arm, I felt my body swaying side to side in what I can only call the Mommy Waltz, that calming motion mothers use when holding their infants, that rhythmic sway that goes in line with your heartbeat and desire for theirs to calm as well. Then it was over.
I sat down. Dumbfounded. There was no tears, no screams, no protests. There was no restraining him to the table. No four nurses holding down flailing limbs. He just did it, and without much complaint. He was the definition of brave: having or showing courage especially when facing danger, difficulty, or pain. He did it, even though he was afraid of it.
And my eyes opened to the boy his is, the young man he is becoming. Though my instinct and mother's heart tell me to protect, nurture, shield... he is teaching me that he is capable, growing, strong, brave. I have a lot to learn from this kid.
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