The Story of the Finger Puppet
The test itself barely registers as an event anymore. Now that Regan is old enough to understand, and we don't have to hold her down to get it done, the test is no longer something to be dreaded or endured. By now, 2 full years into this particular drama, we've got it down to a routine: In the days leading up to the appointment, play "hobstible" with the dollies. Scan their bellies with the doctor equipment, and talk about how it doesn't hurt them. Talk about the "tickle" and the "slimy." Remind Regan that soon she gets to go to the "hobstible" so that the doctor can look at her tummy. Make it sound like an adventure.
She lies still for the scan now, holding on to me instead of forcing me to hold her down. She doesn't like it, but she doesn't fight it, either. Gone are the days when I had to get on the gurney with her; now I sit in the chair beside her and hold her hand while the technician glides the various instruments over her small body. While I praise her for her bravery and compliance, I keep an eye on the monitor, making small talk with the tech as I watch for abnormalities. I'm by no means an expert, but I've seen enough of these pictures by now to fool myself into thinking that I have some idea of what I'm looking at.
This is all the easy part. It's what comes next that's hard. The wait.
Usually, it's not too bad. Usually, I've chatted up the technician enough that they give me the "all clear" before they even leave the room to check the films. Not this time though. This time, she leaves to get Regan a finger puppet reward and to "check some measurements," leaving us waiting in the darkened room.
At first, it's not too bad. The time is taken up with wiping the goo off of Regan's belly and high fives for a job well done. But, as the minutes stretch on, and the woman doesn't return, I start to wonder exactly how long it takes to get a finger puppet. I start to remember the last time I was left to wait this long in one of these room, and resolutely refuse to think about it. I know Regan is healthy now, just like I knew something was wrong then.
But then, what's taking so long? Seriously, how long does it take to find a finger puppet? Or is it something more? Did she find something else? Is she waiting for the radiologist? Why would she need to do that, if the films are clear? My breathing starts to speed up, and I will myself not to hyperventilate, to concentrate on the obviously healthy child who is surfing on the gurney. The waiting, though, it gives you time to think.
What if it's started to grow back? I haven't noticed anything, but what if that's because it's still small? Well, that would be good, right? Small would be ok, early detection and all that. What's the worst that would happen, that they'd open her up and take it out again? That wouldn't be so bad.
Except, it was hard enough with an infant who was too little to put up much of a fight--although she tried; good lord how she tried. How much harder to go through it with someone who understood? Who knew what was happening to her. Did I have it in me to do it all again?
And then, before I have to answer that, the technician is back with a finger puppet and a clean bill of health. Turns out the finger puppet wasn't really worth the wait; Regan would have rather had a sticker. The all clear, though, that's something worth waiting for.
Now, the question is, how long do I have to wait before the waiting simply becomes another part of the routine?
Comments
so well written, heartwrenching and had me on the edge of my seat the whole way through. Soooooo very glad that you guys have made it through another check up.
Hugs to both of you and another high five from me and the girls too
I don't think the waiting ever becomes routine. I've never had the experience of waiting for result for my child, but even for a loved adult, five years after the original diagnosis and cure, there's that tension.
Glad she's doing well!
Yeah, I was feeling a little anxious there myself! Glad to hear that she got the clean bill of health again.
