First an update . . . officially the doc has diagnosed Malcolm with "a stress injury" which means he probably twisted his ankle, or pulled a muscle, or some such while playing as three year olds are wont to do. He gets to wear his "boot" for 7 to 10 days, then I call the doctor back and we'll go from there. Along the way, the doctor ordered X-rays (to check for fractures) and blood work (to check for infection, sickle cell, etc.) All tests came back clean, so no worries there.
But, this order for blood work meant that Malcolm had to get a needle! His first in a very long time. The last "poke" he got, he was too young to remember, so in many important ways, this was a first for him. Of course, as a child life specialist, the first thing I asked for was Emla, LMX, cold spray, buzzy, j-tip, or any sort of dermal anesthesia at all! Sadly, the lab had none. So, with no help on that front, I was left with preparation, medical play, modeling, positioning for comfort and distraction as my tools to get him thru the blood draw with minimal negative effect.
The lady who did the draw was fantastic! Super professional, cheerfully agreed to my requests for positioning and such, and hit the vein on the first try! Malcolm sat in my lap, with his legs tucked securely between mine, and my arms wrapped around his tummy and left arm, in a big "bear hug." The nurse showed him the "big blue rubber band" which he seemed a little unsure of, so I held my arm out, and she tied it around my arm, to show him what it was for. At my request, when she put it on him, she did it over his shirt sleeve (hurts less than on the skin!) Next came the alcohol swab "cold and wet!" then the poke. I told him that "it's going to poke your skin. It might hurt a little, but it will be over very quick. Your job is to hold your arm still." Then . . . . . poke!
Would you believe it? Three years old . . . and he held perfectly still. He didn't cry, yell, scream, or pull away. He didn't even flinch! He just sat there and watched. I thought for a moment that it might be one of those super rare pokes, where the nurse manages to miraculously slide the needle between nerve endings, but no. As she started to fill the second tube, Malcolm calmly announced "Oh, well . . . that kind of just hurts a little bit." That was it. Then we sang ABCs together while she finished filling the various tubes with blood. I couldn't be more proud of him! What an amazing young man. Needless to say, I showered him in exuberant praise, telling him what an amazing job he did holding still. The nurse was amazed, and showered him in stickers, and asked me if he was really only three. The tech who had the role of holding his arm still felt entirely superfluous, I think.
I'm interested to see what his response will be if he needs to get another needle anytime in the next few months. Whether he'll remember this, and if he does whether the remembered pain makes him anxious, or the remembered success and mastery makes him confident. I'm guessing the latter. In the car ride home, he told me "She took my blood, Mommy. It really hurt a lot, but it was over really fast, and I held so very very still!"
And now for a completely unrelated story . . . .
When I arrived home sick from my trip to Phoenix last week (head cold), I didn't want to spread it to my sweet son. So when he tried to kiss my face, I told him that I was sick, and would only kiss his belly, so that I didn't give him my germs. Malcolm took this in stride, and gleefully accepted many belly kisses. Later in the day, he asked me how I got sick. I told him that someone in the airport didn't cover their cough, so I caught their germs. In retrospect, I can see exactly how a three year old would process this information, and confabulate the two separate discussions. Nonetheless, I was completely caught off guard when, later in the evening, he told Matthew, "Daddy! Mommy kissed someone at the airport, and now she's sick!" Gotta love the way preschooler's think!
