Oh, do I feel bad! Like really bad! Like, I win the bad mommy award for today.
I took Lorelei in for her physical. Apparently they are required here so if it wasn't done by Friday she'd be unable to attend school. No biggie, made the appointment.
I've been reassuring her that there wouldn't be any shots. If anything I knew her shot records were up to date because that was all taken care of in August before school ever started. She was happy. She hates needles and I can't say I blame her.
The whole appointment goes really, really well. Our doctor commonly takes on med students of one variety or another and so we got one of them today and she was really nice. The doctor came in to get the med students observations and throw in his own two cents. He did a few of the checks over again and gave her some pointers. (It's kinda cool to watch them in training.) So, then he starts asking questions about diet, behavior, school...the usual run down. He's got three kids of his own so when in response to the question about behavior I just smile and say, "She's five.", he gets it.
And then things head south. He asks about lead paint. Initially I'm just like, no problem...no issue. And then, I stop. Yep, there is a problem. I'm not sure why the prior pediatrician never brought it up, but we definitely have a problem. For 3 years we lived in a house built around 1940. And lead paint was definitely used. In fact, it is disclosed in the sale of the house. Granted it's mostly been covered over by safer, and far more colorful, kinds of paint, but there were areas -- most notably the windowsills -- where there was paint chipped, cracked and dusty.
I can see the doctor get thoughtful for a minute. Weighing out the pros and cons in his head. Five year old girl, appears perfectly healthy, spent 3 years in a home that could have caused lead poisoning. What do I do?
He decides to error on the side of caution and wants to draw blood for lead poisoning and I concur it's probably in her best interest to at least check. We also agree that if her levels show any trace evidence that we'll test Caleb because he had a good year of exposure as well.
And now, I have to tell Lorelei that mommy wasn't entirely truthful about those needles and that we'll have to use a needle to take some of her blood. There is immediate panic. I offer McDonald's. There is crying and hiding under chairs. I try to soothe and reassure her...and then the nurses walk into the exam room.
Despite having no where to go and three big mean adults looming she tries to bolt. (My poor baby!) I pick her up and lay her down on the exam table. She's crying, huge tears streaming down her little face. I'm trying not too feel too bad or I'll never have the courage to hold her down. We show her what they are doing up to the point of the needle and when she sees it, she starts thrashing. While one nurse holds down the arm in question, I pin her upper body beneath me and put my face between her and the needle. I kiss her cheek and tell her I love her and tell her how good she's doing. I ask her to recite her ABC's for me. Suprisingly she complies.
The draw doesn't work. We have to start over on the other arms. Damn it!
Again, she's freaked out, but well, the show must go on. We start over. I ask her to count with me and I shield her eyes away from the needle. She doesn't struggle so much this time. We get to 40 and they are finished. She gets two cool printed band-aids and a freeze pop for being so brave. Her little eyes are watery and pink from crying, but it doesn't hurt anymore.
I feel so awful because I was 100% sure she wouldn't need to deal with needles and then instead we have to do a blood draw. Bad mommy!
I took them to McDonald's for lunch -- I think I owed it to her!