A Day at the Hospital

This past Monday Kimmie had an MRI of her spine, under sedation.

Poor little Kimmie.

We let her sleep until it was time to leave for the hospital. Then we wisked her out of bed, put clean clothes on her and hustled her out to the van. No food or drink allowed at that point.

She was hopeful, hopeful that we were going on vacation. . . . Nope.

As we drove closer to the hospital we passed the baseball field. She signed baseball game. . . . Nope.

By now she was getting a little worried. As we arrived at the hospital and pulled into the parking garage, the wimpering began along with lots of "no" signs.

She did pretty good in the waiting room. She just looked like she was fretting and worrying. Every time we had to get up and move to a different location the wimpering would start.

The wrist band they put on all hospital patients upsets her, too many memories. We always have them put it on her ankle (she can't reach it as easily to rip it off.)

Poor little Kimmie.

The nurse who came in to take her vitals was not very well received. One of the things Kimmie hates is the bandaid like thing they wrap around her index finger to monitor her oxygen level. It looks like a bandaid, one of her big phobias.

The blood pressure cuff sends her into hysterics. I don't think anyone has ever been able to get a reading until after she's sedated. Having that thing squeeze her arm gets her fighting so hard that nothing registers.

The nurse who was doing the sedation did receive a hug, but it was pitiful since Kimmie was sobbing.

Kimmie was a good girl about drinking the medicine they brought her, and once that was in her the IV was put in without any struggle.

When Kimmie woke up after the MRI, everything came off pretty quickly. It was either that or she was going to rip it all off. I think she was more worked up about the bandaid like oxygen thing than the IV.

As soon as we were in the car she started pulling at the ankle band, so we cut that off of her. She repeatedly checked her ankle to make sure it was gone and has spent most of the week telling us the blood pressure cuff is off . . . gone . . . No, No, No.

Now we wait, and wait, until July 8 when we will get the results.

--Mom

Shoe Shopping

Shoe shopping is one of those experiences that ranks right up there with doctor and dentist appointments. Kimmie's phobia of new shoes is almost as bad as her phobia of bandaids. She fights both with all her might. It makes shoe shopping lots of fun!

It all started years ago when Kimmie was just a baby. At 9-months, she wasn't rolling or sitting or crawling. At the doctor's recommendation we took her for physical therapy. As the physical therapist worked with her through rolling and creeping and crawling and pulling up, it became apparent that Kimmie's feet rolled in. The physical therapist recommended an orthopedic doctor, and he ordered plastic inserts to be made to keep her feet from rolling in.

The ordeal of having these plastic inserts made was the beginning of Kimmie's phobia. Fortunately, once the plastic inserts were in her shoes, where she couldn't see them she didn't think about it much, but if we had to take the inserts out for any reason . . . HYSTERIA! When we went shoe shopping we would have to take the inserts out to see if they fit in the new shoes and then try the new shoes on Kimmie. Trying to hold her leg still enough to get the shoe on was a challenge, and we are talking about a very tiny 2-year-old.

Kimmie has not worn the inserts since she was about 4 or 5, but shoe shopping has not gotten any easier. She fights putting any new shoe on. It continues to be a challenge to get a new shoe on her foot, and to keep her from instantly kicking it off.

--Mom

Hallway of Doom

This week Kimmie had a bit of trauma. A trip to the pediatrician for a check-up.

She started whimpering as soon as she heard where we were going, which I didn't tell her until time to go. We were able to get her distracted. Every now and then she would start to cry, again, and I would try to distract her.

I call the hallway to the pediatrician's office "the hallway of doom", because when we get off the elevator, we turn down this long hallway and straight at the end is the door to his office. All the while we are walking down the hallway we are looking at his office door, getting closer and closer.

Now, don't get me wrong, we have a wonderful pediatrician, but he comes with shots and other fun stuff.

At Kimmie's appointment this week she had a blood test done by finger prick and a booster shot. It only took two nurses and Mom! And, of course, there was much sobbing and hugging and she wanted everyone to kiss her finger, which did NOT have a bandaid on it. (See a previous post about bandaids if you don't get this comment.)

--Mom

Bandaids, another scary thing

A few posts back Dad wrote about "Butterflies and other scary things". This is about another scary thing, bandaids. Kimmie has a phobia of bandaids.

When Kimmie was a baby her eyes crossed (strabismus). For a while we had to patch one of her eyes. Eventually she had surgery on both eyes to correct the crossing. The patches look and are packaged much like bandaids, thus creating this phobia.

Added to this is that bandaids are not generally associated with happy memories. . . doctors' offices, hospitals, falls, cuts. The cute cartoon pictures that are printed on them don't fool Kimmie. She still dislikes them. Not even Pooh Bear is comforting.

I remember one time when she was about 2 years old and her brother was 4. He had injured himself somehow, nothing major, a skinned finger or something. We were tending to him and then realized that Kimmie had backed herself against the farthest wall of the room and was gradually sliding along the wall until she reached the farthest corner.

She has radar when it comes to bandaids. She can spot the first aid box from the next room. She instantly starts signing "no, no, no". Usually it is her sister tending to her own latest scrape. If the first aid box is left out on the cupboard, it will bother Kimmie so much, having it visible, that she will eventually pick it up and put it away just so she can't see it any more.

Kimmie has gotten a little better about other people having bandaids. It used to be that she would not have anything to do with someone who had a bandaid on. Now she will touch the bandaid and sometimes kiss it to help it get better. She spots the bandaids quickly and becomes fixated on the person having a "hurt". Her concern can be really sweet.

--Mom