If it wasn’t pouring down rain, I might have grabbed my phone to take a couple of pictures of this fiasco. So I take Arleigh and Hanan in to get their flu shots today. The P.A. always seems to go a little overboard with tests. She decides that their throats are so red, she really needs to test for strep. Arleigh will be 8 next week and so far we’ve (knock on wood) been tested for strep about 250 times. No one has ever had it.
The strep test needs to take place before the shot. Did I mention how angry my girls are that they are having shots? They normally get the flu mist. This year, we had a little going on in Oct. I missed the mist. It’s gone. Needles it is!
Arleigh is a pascifist. She has no fight in her. She never has. It doesn’t matter if Bria is pulling her hair or Hanan is taking her favorite clothes. She wimpers. She cries. She never fights back. So there must have been some kind of built up aggression in the child. I’ve never seen anything like it. When that P.A. came at her with a q-tip, Arleigh’s fight or flight reaction really kicked in. Since there was no place to go in that little cubical in the room, she fought. Her mouth was clamped shut, she was shoving the P.A. off of her. I didn’t know if I should be proud of her for standing up for herself or crawl in a hole because she was going to beat up an adult.
Now it’s Hanan’s turn. She stood there defiantly. It was typical Hanan. I was so proud. She was not going to let anything get to her. I was high fiving her, telling her good job, as much praise as I could muster. Little did I know…
It’s on to the shots, after a 15 minute wait with all sorts of anticipation on the girls’ part. Arleigh bravely volunteers to go first. There is no fight left. She is crying and tense, but she’s not fighting. I had to hold her with Bria on the other hip. But it was done quickly. Meanwhile Hanan is behind me screaming at the top of her lungs. “I don’t want a shot!” The screaming doesn’t stop. It only gets louder. It’s her turn. I check on Arleigh. She seems okay so she takes Bria. The nurse has clearly had it. She’s calm but she tells me over the screams that Hanan will be getting her shot in the thigh. I had to pick her up. She was quite literally kicking and screaming. I lay her on the table and hold her arms down over her head just like I’m instructed to do. The screams change. Now it’s, “I want it in my arm! I’ll take it my arm!” Then the blood curtling, I can’t believe my own mother would do this to me scream of the needle going in. It doesn’t stop.
I help her pull her pants up. I get everyone’s jackets on. I pack Bria on one hip and diaper bag on the other arm and try to get everyone in the car. Hanan is planted. She won’t move. She’s just screaming “NO!” over and over. If I tell her let’s go, “No!” If I say, “Fine, would you like to stay here?” “NO!” She can’t be reasoned with. I know it’s defiant but I don’t know what to do about it. I grab her hand and drag her toward the door, the rain and the car. She tries to stop and get stickers but I won’t be dettered. Seriously, stickers for that kind of behaviour? I don’t think so.
Just before we get to that final door, the door that leads to outside, the screaming starts again and if you can believe it, even louder. “Mama, you don’t love me anymore!” This is not a child crying out of hurt, she is angry. This is Hanan’s new favorite thing to say when she’s in trouble. She must have known it was coming at this point. When I ignore it, she starts looking for anyone who will listen, “My Mama doesn’t love me anymore!” It’s a cry of desperation. I don’t know which one of us I feel more sorry for. I know you can’t reason with her when she’s like this. I just told her to get in the car. She’s continuing to scream out to anyone who will listen.
We get in the car and I start out in the pouring down rain for Portsmouth. We have piano afterall. I am hoping the girls will nod off and maybe peace will ensue. I’m one block from the doctor’s office when the phone rings, “Mrs. Stiff, this is Jennifer. I didn’t know you left. I’m really sorry but both girls have strep.” She keeps going telling me she would call in a prescription. Fabulous. “By the way, Mrs. Stiff, they can’t go to school tomorrow. You need to keep them at home.” More fabulous.
This is what I get for complaining about someone else complaining about having four. Karma is a ?>%&*! I’m soaked from getting everyone in the car in the pouring down rain. Arleigh is freaked out over the tornado warning flashing on television. I’m sure that will be tomorrow’s awesome post!