Gage had labs Saturday because they were checking his prograf levels as a result of him being put on the drug that will hopefully stop the scalp-eating fungus that is running rampant currently.
The levels were fine. Perfect in fact. But he was only on the drug for 5 days and they wanted a repeat today. Gage was thrilled, as you might imagine.
They were running very behind this morning, which wasn’t great since I had a numbing cream on him and had to reapply two additional times. He did fine with the needle going in (under protest, of course) but when she had to keep wiggling it around to find a vein he was unimpressed with her and crying. Big droplet tears down the boys face, a low whining cry and the words “you are moving it and hurting me…you are hurting me…it hurts me when you do it like that…”
Ugh. My poor boy. He’s over labs. And two in one week? It’s too much sometimes. Today was one of those days.
Poor kid.
I was in the hospital for a stretch when I was about fourteen. I remember that there was a little boy on the floor who had just spent his fourth birthday in the hospital, having had a kidney transplant at some point in his past. He saw a bandaid or whatever on my arm and asked me, “Did you get your blood drawn?” I replied yes, and he asked, “Did you cry?”
Even at fourteen, I remember thinking that, wow, little kids should NOT have to go through this crap. (It is to be noted that, at fourteen, I did not even remotely consider myself to be a kid. Oh, how I’ve learned.)
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