So Marissa had blood drawn for the first time yesterday, and I hear it went exceptionally well. I was not there, which was probably a very good thing.
We have a confirmed case of strep throat, and my little school-loving girl is forced to stay home in what she sees as some sort of warped parental form of torture. She would much rather be at school. (Now, if you were to ask my older kids, they would be glad to take on a case of strep throat just to have the opportunity to miss as much school as possible.)
First of all, most of us know that the test for strep itself is not pleasant (some sort of procedure involving a stick in your throat). She made it through that just fine, and she didn’t even start to express concern until the doctor mentioned that she certainly looked pale and she looked like she just really felt awful and he would love to take some blood, just to be sure that’s all we were dealing with.
Blood. This word has power. At the mere mention of stabbing her arm and digging around for a vein, Marissa’s little lower lip jutted out and her eyes filled with tears. But she didn’t cry. (I probably would have cried.) Instead, she sat very still for the blood draw, and it went very smoothly actually.
After they took her blood, she had to wait in the lab waiting room with Grandma, and as the doctor walked by, Marissa stopped him with a question that has had me rolling with laughter since I heard it. She said, “Dr. Dempsey, I know you had to take the blood out to test it, but do you have to stick me again and put it back in my arm?”
Upon noticing her distress at possible further probings by the needle, our family doctor who we love and go to for everything from headaches to ingrown toenails said to her, “Oh no, we just wait for the vampires to come here every night and pick up the extra blood.”
This made her smile, because as we all know, vampires are nice and cute and romantic, just like in the movies.