Well, it's the second week of November and that means at least one thing is for sure...annual check-up for Houston and Holt. When I made the announcement this morning, the fear in Houston's eyes was immediate and unmistakable. He hasn't had a vaccination since he was five. Nor will he need another one until he is twelve. This he knows and relies on for a confidence booster with every mention of the doctor's office. "But I'm NOT getting a shot!" he declares with much authority. And with a slightly more vulnerable tone he questions, "Am I getting a finger prick?"
I nod my head and in efforts to blow right past that terrifying truth, I offer with a gigantic grin, "And you get to pee in a cup!" With my affirmation of a needle, that's when the panic began to set in. You could almost witness the beads of sweat roll down his now pale face. Since the cup didn't excite him, I felt another distraction tactic was in order, "I'm checking you guys out from school today!"
He didn't even look up from his bowl of Cookie Crisp.
Later that afternoon, as we walked up the sidewalk to Dr. Owen's office, the Funeral March playing in Houston's head was audible to us all. I filled out the same paperwork for the ump-teenth time while Adam attempted to psych Houston up about the finger prick. Once I was done with the forms, I pulled up last year's blog post on my phone about Houston and the finger prick for purposes of encouraging him.
"You were very reluctant to hand over your finger for a prick. However, you finally did and realized it doesn't hurt! (Just like Mom and Dad were trying to convince you.) Hopefully, you will remember that next year. Perhaps we should read this blog before going to your 8 year check up."
He nervously smiled and headed back over to solemnly watch whatever preschool show was blaring on the waiting room television.
I have failed to mention up until this point, although you probably assumed, that the entire Schwartz family was represented today. We hadn't really thought about the logistics of cramming into an exam room when Adam and I agreed to all go to the appointment. The open space is no more than 4 x 10. Hawkins was in the stroller crammed all the way by the window while Houston and Holt sat on the exam table. Adam and Hayes took up residence in the only two seats. I stood in the "aisle". I'm positive the room could not have held anymore Schwartz's. Should we decide to have another child, I think our pediatrician should consider building a bigger, family-friendly exam room.
"Mommy, Mommy! Can I wash my hands?" Hayes pipes in over the continual shuffling of weigh checks and height checks and blood pressure monitoring and head circumferences. I'm not sure what it is in my second born, about the doctor's office that sparks a newfound passion for hygiene. Due to the fact that we're snug in there like a jigsaw puzzle even without the two additional nurses, I asked him to wait.
Enter "Bug Lady". That's what our kids have nicknamed the sweet nurse from the patho lab that comes in to prick fingers. She got her name because she tells the kids that she is checking their blood for bugs.
Houston objected to every finger she wanted to use. "That's my gamer finger!" he protested. He began to beg. And grovel. Then he resorted to crying. I decided to let her go ahead and prick Holt since Huey was having difficulty with accepting reality. Commence Holt crying which made Hawkins cry. Holt was screaming, Houston was crying, Nurse Julie was repeating "It's okay, it's okay" and the Bug Lady was calmly requesting "Let me see your finger. It isn't gonna hurt!" Adam and I were very sternly suggesting for Houston to man up and stick a finger out. The poor kid in the exam room next to us probably thought that someone was getting their arm chopped off with all the sounds of anguish exuding from Room 12.
Adam managed to pry a finger out of the deeply clenched fist and that's when the bug lady swept in for the kill. Houston instantly quit crying because he realized, Hey, that didn't hurt afterall. The medical staff departed, quite enthusiastically, and the room was finally quiet for half a minute. A nice reprieve from the last five minutes of screaming and/or crying from eight individuals simultaneously. We all just sat there, catching our breath and re-hashing in our heads, what in the world just happened?!
Hayes broke the silence first.
"Hey, Mom, can I was my hands now?!"
Here's Our Stats:
Houston
54.5" tall 96%
92 pounds 97%
Holt
30.5" tall 75%
22.10 pounds 50%
49.5 head circumference 97%
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