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Silly Spencer

So I took Spencer to the doctor this week to get his Strattera renewed.  He is doing well, the dosage is good, and no, I do not want to take him off of it, thank you for asking. We do, however want to check his blood to see if the thyroid medication is dosed correctly, not because we are thinking it isn't, it just hasn't been checked for two years. 

It worked out that he didn't have play practice after school on Tuesday, the day we went to the doctor, so we had a good window of time to take him to get his blood drawn at the American Fork hospital.  Sarah came with us.  Spencer didn't seem nervous about getting this done and I thought maybe, just maybe, he has overcome his fear of needles. When he got called back I asked him if he wanted me to come.  I am used to accompanying my children for medical procedures, but he is 15 now and I was told that I was not allowed to watch him audition for musical theater because it is "unprofessional", so I thought I better ask what the protocol was for blood draws. Apparently, moms are still allowed to watch needles being inserted into blood veins because he said he didn't care.  So Sarah and I followed him in.  He bravely sat down in the designated chair.  Not wanting to hover, Sarah and I sat down on a couch just across from him.  He correctly stated his name and birthdate when asked then looked up at the ceiling when the needle got pulled out.  He didn't flinch or squirm; I was very proud.  He didn't even turn pale or look faint; he was a cool as a cucumber... until we got to the car. Then he let it all out.  He squirmed in his seat and shared the gory details of how it feels to have a needle jammed into your vein and having your blood drain out.  He could see a drop of blood seeping into the cotton ball that was placed over the site...oh no more lost blood! He wasn't sure how he was going to have enough strength to lift his dance partner at practice the next day.  Worst of all he made the mistake of looking at Sarah as well as the ceiling during the ordeal.  She was clinging to my arm with a terrified look on her face. How were they both going to recover?

Luckily we didn't need to get him a barf bag, or recline his seat this time.  We did reminisce about the first time he had to have blood drawn.  We both chuckled, ok I chuckled and he was grateful that we didn't have a repeat of that day.  He was nine-ish when we took him to see a psychiatrist.  She ordered a battery of tests to make sure that his behavioral issues didn't have a biological connection.  After he had his blood drawn and we quickly ran to the bathroom where he promptly vomited.  He was vary pale and wanted to lie down on the hospital bathroom floor--I don't think so! You know the cord that is in hospital bathrooms that you can pull if you need help, well, they don't actually get you any help.  I pulled it while trying to convince him to remain upright.  I stuck my head out and asked if there was a place for him to lie down.  A kind nurse escorted us to a bed and explained what happens to our bodies when we get nervous.  I stood to the side stifling a giggle and he lay there trying to remain conscious.  After a few minutes we both gained our composure and were able to walk to the car.

We are making progress and memories!

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