H1, Anyone?

Blog soundtrack:

When I drove Iz to school this morning, she asked, “Is today Wednesday?”
I said, “Yes.”
She then asked, “Is this the day?!”

I knew she had remembered that today was the day for her H1N1 booster. She had the vaccine in nasal form in November; however, I couldn't get the nasal vaccine at her pediatrician's. Unfortunately, they only had the booster in the form of a shot.

Anyway, I could sense a huge cloud of doom and gloom in the car. And, if I didn’t know about the impending shot, I would have sworn on the drive that Iz knew she was going to arrive at first grade, be told to clean out her desk, and then be laid off with only two weeks of lunch money. Believe me, I know that feeling!

Do all kids hate shots? Both of mine do. I remember Nathan being very much the same way as Iz when he was her age. And, I do recall four years ago when Nathan said to me unexpectedly, “Mom, you don’t have to ever worry about me getting any piercings or tattoos. I hate needles.” And, thus far, he’s been true to his word.

When I got Iz off the bus at 3pm, she was usual self -- bright, cheery, and whacking Noah repeatedly with her backpack; yes, this is the way you show a boy you like him when you’re 6 years old.

She then asked me what we were doing. I reminded her about the trip to the doctor’s. She said, “No. I don’t want to go.” Oh, dear.

Once home, I offered her a snack between “I don’t want to go” statements. I knew I was going to have to pull out a really good snack along with a really positive vaccination attitude. “It’s going to be all right, Iz. I’m going to be with you. Want some gumdrops?”

She gladly accepted the gumdrops; however, I don’t think she was buying the positive vaccination attitude. Well, neither was I. It’s hard knowing something is going to potentially hurt your child, and though you’re doing it because you love them, you’re really powerless to do anything else.

In addition to the positive vaccination attitude, I also tried to remind her of our post-vaccination retail (a trip to Claire’s and a hunt for new shoes to go with her new dress for the Father-Daughter dance) and food (a trip to her favorite restaurant for dinner) therapy. It seemed that even when I dangled these activities, like a carrot in front of a donkey, they did not make her feel any better or motivate her for the shot.

When it was time to leave, I said, “Okay. Put on your coat. We’ve got to get going.”
“I don’t wanna do it.”
“Aw, Iz.”
“I’m not brave enough, Mommy!”
“Yes, you are. You’re a very brave girl.”
The tears streamed down her checks.

I went over and hugged her and said, “I know you’re afraid. I’m going to be with you.”
“It hurts!”
“It’s just a little pinch.”

And I gave her arm a little jab with my longest fingernail. (Okay, not having had a shot in ages, I could only guess at this; however, I thought it was better for her to have some idea, even if fabricated, than no idea.)

I suggested she grab a stuffed animal to bring. She ran upstairs and returned two minutes later with one of her stuffed bears. Her eyes were all red and moist from crying. I wanted to call the pediatrician right then and cancel, but I knew it would be much worse for her to get the flu. Though right then, I wish I could trade. Give me the flu and spare her the shot; it's too bad life doesn't work that way sometimes.

After thinking I’d have to carry her out of the house due to many protests, she finally climbed into the car with her bear. She immediately asked, “Why two shots?” I explained that she got the first vaccine, but then they needed to do a second one to make sure it worked. I told her she had to get the second one or her “booster” today.

She asked me why it couldn’t be one shot. I said that I didn’t know. I reassured her that it was better for her to get the shot than to get the flu.

She then asked, “If I get H1N1, will I die?
“No. But, you will get really sick, feel miserable, and miss school.”
“I was sick before, and it was fun.”
“Well, that’s because you weren’t sick!”

She said again, “Mommy, I’m not brave enough,” and she began to whimper.
“Yes. You are. I bet you’ll be flying planes when you’re older.”
“I don’t want to fly planes. I want to be a veterinarian.”
“I thought you wanted to be a teacher.”
“Oh, yeah!” she said.

After that, it appeared that my answers weren’t sufficient, because she asked, “Mom, how come they have two different kinds of shots again?” Then came “How come shots hurt?” And, I was waiting for this one, the classic “Why me?” Question! “Why don’t you and Nathan have to get shots?”

I explained that there were not enough shots, so the doctors saved them for the little kids and the older people.
“So, when you’re old, I’ll take you to get your shot?”
(Perhaps she was feeling better at the idea of revenge!)
I said, “Yes. You’ll come and pick me up at my house and take me to the doctor’s.”
She quickly said, “No. I want to live with you and take care of you!”

When we took a right onto the road that led to the doctor’s office, the whimpering began. I heard a very loud and defiant, “I’m not getting out of the car!” I said, “Iz, it’s going to be okay. I’m going to be with you the whole time. You know I’d never let anyone hurt you.” Again, I heard, “I’m not getting out of the car!”

I pulled into the parking lot and turned off the car. Iz’s was now crying and shouting, “I’m not getting out of the car!” What’s worse than your daughter being upset and not wanting to get out of the car? It’s probably having to pry her out of the car when she’s upset and not wanting to get out of the car.

I carried her in. She was clutching her teddy bear and babbling. We checked in with the receptionist, and then sat down in the waiting room.

Iz curled up into a little ball in my lap, and I began to rock her back and forth. Sitting there, I thought that one of the most difficult things I faced this last year was not unemployment, biking 40 miles most every day, or being rejected by Macy’s for a cosmetics sales associate position; this was it right here, facing the H1N1 shot with my daughter.

I think humor is one of my strong points. It gets me through tough times when a glass of Chardonnay doesn’t! In that desperate moment, and it was probably the influence of one episode of “What Not To Wear” with my Cobb salad at lunch time today, I said, “Girl, you know what you need?! A makeover! How about some lip gloss?” Iz brightened up and said, “Sure!” (Also, remember: When I’m upset, I always resort to lipstick!)

I pulled out my make up bag; this was my little bag of tricks in this moment. Okay, if truth be told, it’s my bag of tricks in every moment, especially that Erase Paste by Benefit. (No. I’m still not hawking products on my blog, but I will mention a few of my favorite things now and then!)

After she chose her lip gloss, I let her apply it all by herself using my compact. She turned to me and asked, “How does it look?” I said, “Beautiful.” But, in this instance, lip gloss wasn’t enough to make her current anxiety a thing of the past.

Just then the door to the exam rooms rattled. Iz began to cry. She said, “I’m not brave enough, Mumma.” I know she’s really upset when she calls me “Mumma.” I had run out of tricks and my positive vaccination attitude was fading fast. I couldn’t wait for this to be over; I so wanted my happy-go-lucky girl back.

Just then the door opened. A little girl with long blonde hair skipped out carrying stickers and a lollipop. I heard the word “vaccine” follow after her, along with what looked to be her grandmother. I said, trying to spin a good tale, “Look, she just got her shot, and she looks fine. And, she’s got stickers and a lollipop!”

The door closed, and when he reopened 5 minutes later, a Friendly Face (a medical technician who was the Mom of one of Iz’s friends) said, “Isabelle.” Despite the Friendly Face, Iz began to cry. Then the Friendly Face said, “Aw, Isabelle.”

I moved her off my lap, took her hand, and I led her toward the door. She was quietly crying and sniffling. As we looked down the hallway, a nurse called to us, “In here!” The Friendly Face followed us. I found out later that the Friendly Face didn’t have to be in the room with Iz; however, when she knew Iz was coming, she decided she wanted to be there.

Once we walked into the exam room, Iz began to sob uncontrollably. Everything began to move fast. I ripped Iz’s coat off, swept her up off the floor and into my lap. She started to say over and over, “No, Mumma, no.” God give me strength, I thought. And she did.

The nurse quickly asked if there was a preference for arms, and, through Iz’s hysterics, I managed to choose her right arm thinking it better because she wrote with her left. I wasn’t sure if that made any sense medically, but at the time, it seemed logical.

I pulled her sleeve up, and the second after I did, the nurse swooped down with the vaccine while the Friendly Face stood close by. One second, needle in. Two seconds, plunger pushed. Three seconds, needle out. I was amazed by this nurse’s stealthness. Surely what she did was art, medical artistry – vaccinated in under three seconds.

The second after the needle came out, Iz immediately stopped crying. It was like someone flipped a light switch. Iz then blurted out, “That didn’t hurt at all!”

I started laughing. The Friendly Face reassured her that it was okay to be afraid. And without missing a beat, Iz said to the Friendly Face, “Um, excuse me, but I saw a little girl leaving with some stickers and a lollipop.” The Friendly Face said, “Oh, of course, come with me!” I guess Iz thought she might as well collect for her pain and suffering. And, she was out of that exam room faster than it took for the nurse to give her that shot.

On our way out of the parking lot, Iz asked, “Mom, does this mean I won’t get the flu now?”
I said, “Hopefully.”
She said, “Say I picked my nose, that’s just an example (clearly she didn’t want me to think that she ever picked her nose). If I picked my nose, would I get sick?”
I said, “I don’t think so.”
Iz said, “That didn’t hurt at all. Mommy, you were right.”
I said, “No. I wasn’t right. It was okay to be afraid, Iz, because you didn’t know what to expect. You were very brave, and I’m proud of you.”
She then said, “Mommy?”
I said, “Yeah, Iz.”
“I love you.”

Today, I had one of the worse feelings in the world, subjecting my daughter to something scary and feeling helpless to make it be anything other than that. Though, I’m glad that even after our bad times today, Iz could still say she loved me. And, I hope it stays that way at least ‘til she’s 50 and I’m 91. ♥