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CHAPTER 9: Lollipops and needles
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A few months later, I took Aidan and Lily to their periodical control. Lily charmed herself through everything, and she - unlike Aidan - had no problems with needles, even holding out her arm toward the nurse without being asked, not so much as averting her eyes when the needle went in. Honestly, it wasn't often I saw three year olds smiling when taking a blood sample! Aidan made a big scene as usual, but Lily let him borrow her giraffe toy and proceeded to hold his other hand while the nurse drew blood, which calmed him down quite a bit. He was very happy when it turned out the nurse had an Elmo band-aid to put on the tiny pinprick wound, but the moment the doctor mentioned the word "vaccine" he had a crying fit lasting pretty much throughout the entire ordeal, and no amount of comforting helped.
"Lily is progressing fine," Dr. Walters finally said - after giving Lily a bright red (sugar-free, of course) lollipop for sitting quietly and behaving nice. He had given a green one to Aidan, which was now stuck to the kid's forehead, tangled in his hair because he'd fallen asleep on top of it, exhausted from all the crying.
"She is already on level with other children her age and is putting on weight and growing like she should. For now it doesn't seem like she she's at risk of learning difficulties or other problems related to premature birth, but it's of course a bit too early to tell yet."
Without being asked, Lily had proudly counted to ten using her fingers, and sung the entire ABC song for him, which she must have picked up from a kids' TV program. A couple of the letters had been mixed up, but what could you really expect from a 3-year-old? Aidan had watched her and smiled, nodding his head in tact with the song.
Dr. Walters sighed, and leaned forwards.
"But I'm getting worried for your son, Jenna," he said, indicating Aidan.
"Aidan is still having troubles walking, and he's not growing as fast as he should. Even though he has spent a lot of time in the hospital, he should not be as far behind his sister as he is. It could be related to his heart problems, but I'm woried there might be something we've overlooked."
I hugged the sleeping boy in my arms. Lily, who sat in the stroller, was playing with her doll and offering it some of her lollipop. She glanced up at the mention of her brother, but quickly turned her attention back to the doll again.
"You have any idea what it might be?" I asked, trying to untangle the lollipop from Aidan's hair.
"I have a few suspicions, but I don't want to say them out loud until I'm sure."
I shivered.
We had been in and out of the hospital since getting Aidan home. He'd had several infections, heart failure, feeding problems the first year, and a number of smaller issues. He really didn't need more now.
Still struggling with the lollipop in Aidan's hair, I almost felt tempted to rip it straight out - until Dr. Walters handed me some scissors. I took them, and finally managed to get the sticky thing out of the boy's hair, throwing it in the paper bin. Aidan lost a small part of his fringe, but it would grow back out.
"Aidan's muscles are weaker than they should be," Dr. Walters said, "and at the last checkup I thought the frequent hospital stays and his heart condition could be blamed - but now I'm not so sure. He's lagging even further behind than last time, and there's a mild stiffness in his joints I don't like. You saw yourself how Lily managed to do everything, but how Aidan struggled doing the same things? He's at least 6 months or more behind in motor skills, struggling with what children his age should be able to do easily."
I nodded. Dr. Walters had made the twins pick up toys, run, jump and generally move around to see how they used their bodies. Lily had done everything right, but Aidan had struggled. Picking up small items from the floor and walking steadily - among other things - seemed difficult to him. While Lily's favorite activity was jumping on the couch, I had never seen Aidan try jumping before, and he had not managed it this time. He'd tried, but had stumbled and fallen down on the mat under him instead. Lily loved being chased around by her older siblings, running around and laughing. Aidan's top speed was more of a faster waddling walk, often a little bit unsteady. He also had these strange ways of getting up again whenever he fell down - sort of climbing his hands up his legs until he reached a standing position. He'd always gotten tired easily because of his heart, and while the previous corrective surgery had given him an extra energy boost, I'd recently noticed moving around was more of a problem for him than getting tired.
"Is it OK if we keep him here for the night to do some more extensive tests?" Dr. Walters asked. "It's probably a good idea if you stay overnight, too. Him and needles, you know."
I nodded, not quite trusting my voice. I hated the thought of Aidan going through a bunch of testing, not looking forward to yet another round of screaming and panic attacks.
I followed Dr. Walters to the Pediatric Unit where Aidan was supposed to stay for the night. Aidan woke up halfway there, recognized his surroundings, and did not at all like to be back. Too many bad memories, I guess. I tried helping Aidan into a toddler-sized hospital gown, but he freaked out just by the sight of it, so I ended up letting him wear only his diaper.
Then I called Peter and asked him to pick up Lily. I had to take a night shift in the evening anyway, so it was not a big deal staying close to Aidan. It only meant less sleep in the morning for me.
At the end of the day I felt really sorry for my little boy. If he had hated the doctors before, he loathed them now.
After dangerous syringes, a "vewy skewy" MRI machine, masked doctors and several other big traumas later, he finally fell asleep crying in my lap. They'd ended up having to put him under light anesthesia to do the MRI, and he was groggy the rest of the evening.
I put him gently down in the hospital bed, knowing the next day would be just as bad for him. He was a brave little boy, but after spending almost a third of his life in a hospital, he'd gotten enough of it. I understood him well, because I hated seeing this happen to my little boy. Why couldn't he be just as healthy as the other children in his daycare? Why did he have to be sick?
I found myself asking questions again. Questions that couldn't be answered.
I sat with him for a while, making sure he was asleep before walking up to the NICU for my night shift, planning to catch a couple of hours' worth of sleep in one of the on-call rooms after my shift ended.
I told the nurses to tell me immediately if he woke up during the night, but thankfully he didn't.
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The next day, as I had predicted, was equally bad for Aidan. He went crazy when they tried taking yet a blood sample, and I had to hold my crying and hysterical little boy tight while they stuck their dangerous, sharp needles into his arms - and leg, when they did a muscle biopsy. Numbing up the area wasn't much helpful, because at the sight of the needle he had a full-out panic attack, kicking and screaming.
My best tries at comforting him didn't help, and I almost started wishing Lily was there.
When they finally finished with the tests, Aidan relaxed a little. The other tests that day weren't as bad, so he calmed down enough not to attack anyone. His survival instincts were really strong, especially inside a hospital. It had ended with biting a few times, and more often than not he had to be sedated. Once he had stressed so much while they were taking a blood sample his heart had almost stopped.
Poor little guy.
When I could finally take him home, he turned his head toward the hospital and stuck out his tongue. Then he turned back and gave me a sunny smile - knowing we were going home, and were freed from the hospital, at least for a little while.
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A week later, I had just finished making dinner when the phone called. Putting down Lily on the floor (she was still screaming for ice cream even though I had clearly told her more than enough times we had to eat dinner first), I ran toward the phone before Aidan reached it. He loved talking in the phone, and had become my automatical answering service for phone sellers.
"Hello? It's Jenna Brooks," I said.
"Hello. It's Dr. Julian Walters. I was wondering if you, and hopefully Peter too, could come down to my office tomorrow at around two. It's Aidan's test results. I'd rather not take them over the phone."
Shivers ran down my back as if someone had thrown a bucket of ice water down my shirt.
Coming down to the office.
It could mean only one thing.
Bad news.
I promised to come, and hung up.
"Kids, dinner!" I yelled, and dialed Peter's mobile number. Dinner was getting cold, and he still hadn't shown up.
"Hi, Jenna," he answered.
"Hi. Where are you Peter? Dinner is getting cold."
"Don't say you don't remember, Jenna. I'm on a filming job. I told you a few days ago. We just arrived by plane now. I'm sitting at the airport, waiting for the cab."
"Darn. I'd totally forgotten. When are you coming home? Dr. Walters called. They got Aidan's test results today. He asked us to show up tomorrow at two."
"I wish I could come with you, Jenna, but it's pretty much impossible for me to get away from here. The next plane is tomorrow anyway. I guess we're home around three. I'll pick up the kids on my way home, if that's ok."
"I wish you could be here, too. I have a bad feeling about the results."
"You worry too much, Jenna. I'm sure you're just overreacting."
"Well, I don't know."
Just then, Tony came in carrying Aidan, while the girls were hanging off his legs.
"Is it dad? Can you say hallo for us?" he asked.
"You can say hello yourself, if you want," I said, and held up the phone.
All four yelled loudly into it, "HELLO DADDY!"
"Hello, I love you all, and be nice to mommy!" Peter yelled back. I put the receiver to my ear again. "Well, I'll see you tomorrow, Jenna. I love you."
"I love you, too. Bye."
"Bye."
I hung up, and started serving food, all the while lost in my own thoughts. The kids didn?t seem to pick up on my mood, having their usual arguments over who got the most apple juice in their cup or not wanting to eat their greens.
I did not look forward to tomorrow.
Not at all.
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