Tweet I took the Bean to the doctor today because she found a bump and wanted me to touch it but there was no way I was doing that because (1) I had no idea if that thing was contagious and (2) that's just gross. She's at that awkward age where she's kind of too old for me to go in the exam room with her, but also too young to be trusted to sit in there by herself, because snooping through all the drawers and cabinets and taking cell phone photos of herself with tongue depressors in her nose is just far too tempting. So we waited together in the same exam room trying to be all hey, this is just like hanging out at Starbucks together. Except not all of us is fully dressed.
I figured it was as good as time as any to ask what the disgusting pile of gunk was she left in the bathroom sink this morning before school. She has a habit of squeezing far too much toothpaste on her toothbrush and leaves a giant wad of paste in the sink every. blasted. day. But today, in addition to the paste, there was a brownish pile of gunk. It kind of resembled cat vomit, I told her. "Oh," she answered flippantly. "That was chewed up pizza. I was in too much of a hurry to swallow it."
The nurse came in to document her weight (101 pounds) and height (5'-3") and get the low-down on why we were there, so Bean explained that she found a lump about the size of a peanut M&M and her friend told her about this one lady who used to be really, really fat but had gastric bypass surgery and got really skinny and then had some lumps taken out of her which were actually clumps of hardened fat, and so maybe it was just a ball of chicken fat that got stuck since she eats a lot of McNuggets. The nurse looked at me and I just shrugged my shoulders because it was as good an explanation as any, I suppose.
The doctor decided blood work was necessary. This meant driving a couple miles to the main clinic. And also meant plenty of time for the Bean to grow her fears and anxiety to gigantic irrational proportions. By the time we pulled in the parking lot she was nearly hyperventilating. She hates needles. Just ask the nurses who spent 45 minutes wrestling with her the last go around.
When the lab tech called her name she looked up and said: "I don't want to go."
And the tech lady laughs, because isn't she cute? Except then she realizes that Bean really isn't doing very well at all and is actually getting quite pale. Tears spring up in Bean's eyes and the lady hands her a box of kleenex, "oh, honey! Don't cry -- you don't want to go all Joan Jett on me..." (I liked her immediately.) Bean has no idea who Joan Jett is, of course, and is somewhat distracted learning about the thick eyeliner the rocker was known for. Bean barely notices the rubber band being fastened around her arm.
But then the needle comes out.
"Hold my hand, mom! Hold my hand!" She squeezes so hard I swear three of my fingers break. "Tell me about your tampon!"
The nurse stops wiping her arm with the little alcohol pad and stares. Um... ok.... I stumble. It's uh, Kotex. Regular absorbency. Why on earth do you ask me to tell you about my tampon?
"No! I said tell me about your DAY AT WORK."
Now that makes more sense. The nurse starts to busy herself again. Uh... not much to tell.
"Well tell me something!" she pleaded.
Hey! Remember when you were little - like six or seven, and we came to the doctor because you had that huge plantar wart on your heel and it hurt really bad? And you were looking at the literature in the exam room? And you said to me, 'I wish I could have a gentle wart' --- and I died laughing because you were reading about STD's?!
What am I ever going to blog about when the Bean goes to college?