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indigo_rose99Today was medical day.
I had my 2nd mammogram of my life. Which didn't hurt near as much as
I remember the first one hurting. My OBGYN was a tad bit upset that
(insurance!) I hadn't done this last year. Me being high risk, and
all.
And then I went to get blood drawn for... that thing that starts with
a 'C' and I have always been too young to worry about. Not any more,
evidently. T tells me that we are officially middle-aged. Of
course he said this as I glared at a open-window pickup truck drive
past us blaring really obnoxious rap music...
But that is not why I am writing this. Childhood. While I was
waiting 90 minutes to get my blood drawn (they totally forgot about
me. They were horrified when #78 asked them if they had forgotten
her. I went up to ask the same thing. Turned out I was # 46. They
had so forgotten me that their sign-in sheet no longer went back that
far. Damned invisibility.), several children came through. One sat
near me and played with toys in the waiting room. He was quiet but
active. He seemed happy and energetic. Disappointed to have to stop
playing when they called his name.
And then the screams began. Horrible. Tearing shrieks. And that
wasn't the worst part. It was the begging. Evidently they couldn't
find a vein. And, no surprise, he was squirmy. And based on what he
said, they must have promised that it would be just the one needle,
just the one time, and be over quickly. Oh, they lied.
I think that is what torture sounds like. What child abuse sounds like.
And nothing he did would make it stop.
Listening to him was MUCH worse than actually having a similar needle
poked into me.
I must have watched 10 kids of various ages go through that doorway as
I sat. He was the worst. Most of them were stoic. One of them
screamed and cried in pain, but did not seem to feel the same coherent
betrayal.
And I thought two things:
* I wanted to tell him, "It does get better. Oh, the pain doesn't.
It will always hurt this much to have a needle stuck into you. And
sometimes it will hurt a lot worse. But when you, personally, make
the CHOICE to have it done to yourself... perhaps knowing the
alternative is worse still... It is easier. Just wait."
* He summarized in 10 minutes my exact feelings about childhood.
Anyone can do anything to you. Parents, older siblings, teachers,
other children... No choices. No matter how painful the situation,
you the child cannot fundamentally change it. And if you fight it or
protest? They will hold you down and stick the needle in, anyway.
I had my 2nd mammogram of my life. Which didn't hurt near as much as
I remember the first one hurting. My OBGYN was a tad bit upset that
(insurance!) I hadn't done this last year. Me being high risk, and
all.
And then I went to get blood drawn for... that thing that starts with
a 'C' and I have always been too young to worry about. Not any more,
evidently. T tells me that we are officially middle-aged. Of
course he said this as I glared at a open-window pickup truck drive
past us blaring really obnoxious rap music...
But that is not why I am writing this. Childhood. While I was
waiting 90 minutes to get my blood drawn (they totally forgot about
me. They were horrified when #78 asked them if they had forgotten
her. I went up to ask the same thing. Turned out I was # 46. They
had so forgotten me that their sign-in sheet no longer went back that
far. Damned invisibility.), several children came through. One sat
near me and played with toys in the waiting room. He was quiet but
active. He seemed happy and energetic. Disappointed to have to stop
playing when they called his name.
And then the screams began. Horrible. Tearing shrieks. And that
wasn't the worst part. It was the begging. Evidently they couldn't
find a vein. And, no surprise, he was squirmy. And based on what he
said, they must have promised that it would be just the one needle,
just the one time, and be over quickly. Oh, they lied.
I think that is what torture sounds like. What child abuse sounds like.
And nothing he did would make it stop.
Listening to him was MUCH worse than actually having a similar needle
poked into me.
I must have watched 10 kids of various ages go through that doorway as
I sat. He was the worst. Most of them were stoic. One of them
screamed and cried in pain, but did not seem to feel the same coherent
betrayal.
And I thought two things:
* I wanted to tell him, "It does get better. Oh, the pain doesn't.
It will always hurt this much to have a needle stuck into you. And
sometimes it will hurt a lot worse. But when you, personally, make
the CHOICE to have it done to yourself... perhaps knowing the
alternative is worse still... It is easier. Just wait."
* He summarized in 10 minutes my exact feelings about childhood.
Anyone can do anything to you. Parents, older siblings, teachers,
other children... No choices. No matter how painful the situation,
you the child cannot fundamentally change it. And if you fight it or
protest? They will hold you down and stick the needle in, anyway.
