We had decided to allow Abbey to go ahead with her normal school day. This simply meant, on our end, that we would get her ready in the morning and onto the van that takes her to school. Then on her return we’d get her off the van and into the house for a quick snack and bathroom trip, before turning around to leave once again and drive another 30-to-40-minutes down to the Children’s Hospital. The problem was that on this particular day nothing and I mean NOTHING was simple. You know “the best-laid plans” and all that. It was start to finish one of the absolute worst hospital trips we have ever had, and that’s saying allot considering the number of visits we’ve had over all these years and the reasons for each one of those visits. I’d say it was a total Crap-Fest, but I think the ER trip for impacted bowels would qualify for that description.
It all started with a rough day at school the previous day. You’d think this would’ve been our warning sign, but the thing is that this appointment was made months in advance due to a backup in lab appointments, just another something to add to the already long list of COVID collateral damage. So needless to say, we were not about to cancel and reschedule it. If there’s one thing common among parents of children with special needs, it’s this – We are TENACIOUS! When we know there’s something that needs doing. We go after it, and we don’t stop until it gets done. That is unless our teen’s tantrum gets in the way, of course.
So, there we were at the hospital in the drop off zone outside of the main check in center. We’d given the anti-anxiety medication that we typically give for procedures such as this, and now we needed to apply the lidocaine cream we had brought to numb the site for the blood draw. This required that I climb into the middle row of our minivan and, while Abbey was strapped safely into her 4-point harness in the backseat, apply a thick glob of the medicated cream to each arm and cover it with a special clear bandage that only sticks at the edges and captures the medication in the middle. A trick we’d learned years earlier to help make blood draws easier. The problem is that Abbey is more sensitive to band aids now and will often take them right off, and we needed the lotion to set in for 20 minutes. So, I covered the bandages with her long sleeves and said a prayer. Then I left Abbey with Eric sitting in her transfer wheelchair, so that they could wait in line to check-in, while I quickly headed to the parking structure to park the car.
Based on the day before and the way things had the potential to go, I had decided to dress in my workout leggings, hoodie, and tennis shoes, with my hair pulled back in a ponytail and hat on top. As I ran, with my crossbody bag slung to the side, from the parking garage to where I’d dropped the 2 of them off, the thought occurred to me, “I’m so glad I wore my running shoes today!”. And just as that thought crossed my mind, I heard a familiar sound. It was the sound of my daughter protesting loudly in the front entryway of the building I was just then running past. It was an entirely different building then the one I’d dropped the 2 of them off at, and not at all where I’d anticipated them to be.
There was no way to ask Eric why in the world they were here instead of there. It was clear Abbey needed help regulating herself and talking in front of her about something that had gone differently than expected certainly wasn’t going to help. In silent cues and code talk I gathered from Eric that the office had moved and that we had been told the wrong place. And now we needed to calm Abbey down from the anxiety she was feeling over unexpected change and the transition that had just taken place.
Our sweet girl stood there crying and loudly protesting going inside. If Eric even tried to approach her to help her back into the wheelchair she would have nothing of it, and in protest began to try and hit. And once the 2 of us were finally able to get her into the chair, she refused to stay seated. It was chaos. At one point she ripped off one of the bandages and popped it into her mouth, and when Eric went in after it so she wouldn’t choke on it, her lip got cut on a sharp previously chipped tooth, leaving it bloody. Then my sunglasses went flying off of my head and straight at a woman walking out the door with her 2 kids in tow. They ricocheted off her shoulder as she went by and she turned only momentarily, not to help but to shoot me a dirty look from over her shoulder, as if I’d done it to her on purpose. Ugh! We finally got Abbey calmed and sitting in her chair, but by then she was a sweaty hot mess, and we were 20 minutes late.
Eric and I walked her to the car and then I ran back to the office to beg. By that time the office attendants had placed their “closed” signs up in the glass windows and were chatting with each other. I reminded myself not to get angry because they wouldn’t look up at this mom standing 2 feet in front of them and just behind the tiny signs, that didn’t really obscure their ability to see me. I said, “excuse me”, as politely and friendly as I could, and reminded myself that I needed them. That they were the gate keepers to this lab that we needed. Finally, one of the attendants did look up, and though they couldn’t arrange for another appointment that week, she assured me that we wouldn’t be billed for a missed appointment and she worked to schedule us for 2 weeks out instead.
When I finally got back to the car. I opened the door and slumped into my seat. Eric and I both just sat there in our respective spots and staired out into space with one collective deep exhale. We both felt a bit traumatized by the whole experience. And to add insult to injury, as we left the parking structure the attendant was no longer available, so our parking validation was useless and we had to pay full price for the time we’d spent there. We had done all of this for nothing it seemed. But nothing is ever really for nothing is it?
When I was finally able to get some perspective on this crazy moment in time, I was able to see that simple truth and to see the beautiful things that God had woven in and amongst all of the craziness that had happened. There was the kind lady that had said nothing, but simply returned my sunglasses from somewhere in that entryway, with a silent hand off and a gentle smile. There was the office attendant that did take the time to look up and see this mom in need and then found a way to help. And then there was the fact that though Abbey had had a major tantrum, she also had shown how far she has come in her ability to communicate. I’ll never forget the sweet look in her face as she desperately tried to tell me using her words just how frustrated she was and how much she wanted to leave. And to put her final stamp on it, just how much she wanted to leave and go to her favorite place In-n-Out. In the middle of her big crocodile tears, she capped it off with, “Double double pl-ea-se..?”. What a moment! What a sad yet sweet, pathetic yet precious, chaotic yet calibrating moment. And God had been with us in the midst of it all, reassuring us with his perfectly timed interventions of love. Yes, nothing is ever really for nothing.
