Old Friends

I’ve wanted to say something about the blood test Sam had a few weeks back, but it was pretty uneventful. Probably the biggest surprise to me was that the relief Sam felt was even more profound than I had expected. I knew there was some nervousness there but I didn't appreciate the depths of it. Unlike me, who would have let everyone know of my displeasure over the situation, Sam keeps things pretty much to himself. In the end, his relief was pretty evident. I've never seen someone walking on air, but Sam came as close as I've ever seen

Looking back on it all, I realized that outside of his regular check-ups, this was the first non-pediatrician appointment he’s had since the days of his MRIs and the follow-ups. Until the morning of the lab work, the full impact of it all kind of escaped me.

The lab was a “walk-in”, which meant first come, first served. As I think I mentioned here before, this also meant that I was putting off doing anything about it. But the end of summer and the beginning of school was on the horizon, so I figured I better get in gear.

I told Sam what I was planning and I wanted to give him some notice so he had time to digest the idea- but not too much time. I figured a week’s notice would be about right.

As I expected, Sam was not particularly happy about it, but also as I expected, he didn't complain. Instead, he spent the week asking the occasional question and developing that strained, almost grimace-like look on his face. This, in typical fashion, was accompanied by him whispering off and on to himself. At times he would sit on the couch, arms folded while he whispered, hoping he wasn't being noticed. At night, I would put him to bed and attempt to alternately encourage or comfort him- and I would see that look and see those lips moving and I would know what was on his mind.

So I knew he was worried, but I didn't appreciate how much until that morning. The morning of the lab, Sam came downstairs with Brownie. This used to be pretty common, but as Sam has gotten older, Brownie’s visits downstairs are pretty infrequent- infrequent, but not unheard of. What was really unusual was that when we left, Sam took Brownie in the car with him. That hadn't happened in many, many years.

I bought Brownie for Sam when Sam was about a year old. It was on one of our walks into town. Sam was still in a stroller.

Brownie in younger days.

I’m not sure what it is that makes kids latch onto certain stuffed animals over others- whether it’s the look or the feel or the smell. It’s probably some combination that just feels right to them. Helaina had her panda, Rachael has her red bear, and Jake, his Goodnight Moon bunny. All of these friends were, at one time or another, constant companions to each of the kids, and at times, their best friend.

I think about all of the raw and intimate emotions, both public and private, that these little pieces of foam and cloth have seen over the years- happiness and tears shared with nobody else but them. These friends that were always there for them, always listening, always comforting- sometimes when it felt like no one else was.

In Sam’s case, Brownie shared Sam’s hospital bed, and he was there for every follow-up doctor’s appointment. On evenings and weekends, he would come downstairs with Sam.

A typical Saturday morning.

Brownie would watch as Sam played video games or went on the computer. Brownie was there when he had his wisdom teeth pulled.

But both Brownie and Sam have gotten older and now Brownie spends most of his days upstairs in Sam’s room- though he still occupies a place of prominence in the sea of Sam’s other stuffed animals.

On this particular Friday, Brownie came in the car with us, and he waited in the car while Sam and I made the long, slow walk into the blood lab.

Christmas Eve

The small waiting room was crowded with an odd assortment of people- including some guy who looked to be in his twenties. He had greasy hair which was pulled back by a sweatband and he was wearing what looked like a velour ninja outfit. If this guy was trying to intimidate, it wasn't working. If he was trying to impress, he was doing a good job of it- though probably not in the way he intended. While Sam sat there with arms folded, and still whispering to himself, he kept nonchalantly glancing over at this guy. I wasn't quite sure what he was thinking, but at least it was a distraction.

After the wisdom teeth.

Eventually, Ninja Guy gets called into the office. Nobody in the waiting room moves their head, but all eyes follow him in. Five minutes later, he comes out and an older woman whom I had assumed to be another patient, gets up when he says, “Let’s go, Mom”. Now it was Sam’s turn.

 The clinician called Sam in and Sam jumped up and walked across the room. He stopped at the doorway and turned and looked over at me. I was still in my chair. Sam said, “Aren't you coming in, Dad?”. Sometimes it’s hard to know whether you’ll be more supportive by being involved or by being out of the way. I got up and went in with him.

We’re in the little room and the clinician had Sam sit down and he put the band around his arm and he tapped around looking for a vein. Unlike me whose veins are almost on the outside of the skin, Sam’s are way down deep. This has presented problems in the past. The guy continued to tap and Sam was asking questions and making comments. The guy was pretty good with him, but he talked too fast for Sam to absorb most of the answers- which was probably a good thing. Sam didn't catch the story about how when these clinicians were getting trained, they had to practice on each other and this guy was repeatedly get jabbed by someone else who insisted on plunging the needle all the way into his arm.

The clinician in turn, missed Sam’s story about how when Jake and I had both told him that it wouldn't hurt a lot, and that it would mostly feel like a strong pinch, Sam had been spending a good portion of the week pinching himself to try to get used to it.

I thought back on all of the whispering he had been doing and I realized that he wasn't just crossing his arms for comfort. While his arms were crossed, he had been pinching himself. It surprised me and at first, it made me a little bit sad to hear this. But with some distance, I've come to see it as being pretty clever. He found a way to prepare himself, and if he had told me what he was doing, I probably would have stopped him.

By this time, the clinician had switched to tapping Sam’s other arm. Finally finding something that was satisfactory, he told Sam, “Here we go…”. Sam turned away, and took a deep breath- so deep he looked like he was going to try and blow up the worlds biggest balloon. I had to tell Sam to take a breath. I was afraid he was going to pass out.

The clinician poked the needle into Sam and filled up two or three vials. After twenty seconds or so, he covered the needle with a gauze and slid the needle out of Sam’s arm. “You’re all set”, he said. “That’s it?”, Sam asked.

It was hard to keep up with Sam as we walked through the waiting room. He wasn't running really, it was more like skipping, more like walking on air. I followed Sam out the door and without turning around, he said to me, “Well what do you know Dad, you were right! That hardly hurt at all!”. This came as a surprise to both of us and we were both relieved.

Back in the car, Sam gave Brownie a few tosses in the air and we headed to the doughnut shop, which is how Sam chose to break his twelve hours of fasting.

At home, I hung around a little longer before I finally had to leave for work. Later, when I got back, I noticed Brownie was still downstairs. And when I put Sam to bed that night, Brownie was still at his side. Sam and I talked briefly about the day and I told him I was proud of him and I kissed him goodnight, shut off the light and left his room.

Walking across the hall into my room, I heard Sam’s whispering start again, and I hesitated. I stood there, trying not to make a sound as I strained to listen. After a few minutes I turned, but before I could take another step, I heard Sam’s whispering turn into a chuckle.

I didn't bother to interrupt.