Short & Chubby (2nd Birthday Check-Up), and Needles Stories

At his regular 2 year health check-up of February 11, Ivan measured at 33 inches high, 27lbs 3.6 oz.
These measurements put him between 25-50% for weight and about 25% for height, or as I affectionately said, he's now short and chubby.

As part of this round of check up, he had to be tested for TB and had his blood drawn to check for lead. "Just a finger prick," our pediatrician said.

TB test was conducted at the pediatrician's office. Luckily, Andy was there with me, so he held him steady while the nurse pricked his forearm. The poor baby cried so hard.

Since this doctor's visit was about a month ago, my memory is already a bit fuzzy, but I think that when we arrived at the doctor's office he didn't cry. However, as soon as we were ushered into an examination room--which is the same room every time--he started bawling.

When we returned a few days later, on a Saturday morning to have the TB injection checked out, he started crying as soon as we entered in the waiting room. Luckily, it was very early in the morning so no one was there to listen to his wailing. And even better, we didn't have to go into an examination room but a nurse came out to check his arm and that was it.

However, for the lead test, we had to go to a Quest lab, where we proceeded to go to that same Saturday as soon as we were done at the doctor's. The place, which is very close to Trader Joe's, was packed. There must have been at least thirty people waiting, many were sitting on the floor as all the chairs were taken. So we literaly walked in, turned around and walked out.

A few days later, on a Friday, my dad and I returned to the lab. He waited in the car, while Ivan and I went it. As soon as we walked through the door, Ivan started crying. He was inconsolable for good 15 minutes. I was shocked. How did he know what we were there to do? He had absolutely no reference point for it. But the waiting room was empty--there were only a couple of people there--so I thought I'd weather it out and proceed with the plan. He was crying to so hard that I was getting embarrased.

The three and a half people who were in the waiting room started to give me those furtive, irritated looks as if "get that baby out of here." So I crossed out his name from the waiting list and decided to leave. But then he stopped crying. So I hung around. He calmed down and started playing--climbing on a row of chairs to look out of window. Had this playtime just not been preceeded by a crying fit, I would've been mortified at his behavior. It was the type of toddler behavior that always made me cringe, "can't that mother control that child and make him behave." But this time, I didn't care. He was free to roam around the waiting room.

Once we got to the admission booth, I realized that I didn't have his insurance card with me. Apparently, I had given it to Andy to keep, in case something were to happen, Andy would be the one who'd need to pick Ivan and take care of him, so that rational makes perfect sense. Except, I had no recollection of us deciding on that. So I flipped out where his insurance card was. By this time, Ivan was all back to his quiet and inquisitive self because at counter at the admissions booth was low, just at his heigh level, with a computer the nurse was using to check us in. That was the first time he saw the back of a PC. Wires and "bups" galore. He was mesmerized. But unfortunately, we had to abort our lead mission because of the missing insurance card.

My parents and I returned the following Saturday. My dad sat in the car, while my mom and I went it. Ivan wasn't too thrilled to be back at that place and kept heading to the door. He was leaving! But since the waiting room was reasonably empty, we decided to stay. After some whining and crying, I helped Ivan remember how he was playing on those chairs the previous time. My mother was mortified--he was touching too many (gross) things. She was also mortified that the lab wasn't a kids lab, but just a regular lab. She thought it was unsavory and inappropriate for little kids to be mixing in with all these other sick adults, etc... I did agree with her. The same thought crossed my mind when I saw the place the first time.

This time, we successfully checked in.

"We're here for the lead test," I said to the admissions nurse. "It's just a prick to the finger, my pediatrician said."

She looked at me seriously.

"We don't do finger pricks here. We draw blood from his vein," she replied.

I think that blood drained from my face at that moment. That meant, I was going to have to hold Ivan steady in my lap while they do this. This is usually a job reserved for Andy. He can hold him down better. And I don't like to play the bad cop. I like to be the parent he runs to after a bubu, not the one who gives him a bubu.

So I sat him in my lap and held him tight and steady in my arms. I have no clue how the nurse managed to find a vein on his forearm. There were no veins to be seen.

Then she pricked him. I couldn't watch, I just held on tighter. He was bawling and writhing all over the place. I'm sure my mother was mortified out in the waiting room. I'm sure other people were thinking to themselves, "get that child out of here." The nurse got quite a vial out of him (like the size of my pinky.)

Even before the nurse managed to get the needle out of his arm, he slithered out of my lap and determinedly started walking out toward grandma.

And good to know, he doesn't have TB and his lead levels are fine.