Mother-Daughter Bonding
© 12.01.07 By Elisa Williams
It seems that now days teenagers don't "hang out" with their parents much. Mom and Dad aren't cool enough or something like that. To their credit, parents continue to try and be involved in their child's life. My mother is one of those parents and apparently she too is of the opinion that quality time with one's children cannot be replaced. We needed some mother-daughter time. And so last week she announced we would have the beneficial and diverting experience of having our blood drawn.
Not only was it practical but it also offered elongated enjoyment as we would have to wait several weeks for the results of our blood work. It was something we could do together, giving the opportunity for parent-child bonding, and it wasn't going to make us gain weight or loose sleep like a late night at the movies or a party would have done. Besides all that, it was new, hip and extremely "crazy".
The afternoon was frigid but we didn't let that slow us down. We piled into the Mazda and roared down the highway, music blaring, alternately freezing and roasting as I alternately cranked the heat up and turned it down. By the time I got the hang of heater adjustment we had arrived in town. Unsure of the exact location of the hospital and without a phone book, my mother sensibly paused to inquire as to the whereabouts of said faculty. She returned to the car triumphant and oriented. We proceeded. My mother has a wonderful memory for directions and it was a breeze. We arrived exactly where the kindly store woman had directed us. Unfortunately, that turned out to be the local college. This confused us momentarily; several times actually. I began to feel a fondness for the little grocery store on the corner after passing it for the fifth time. My mother was determined to find the hospital without further misdirection. At last we turned a corner (by mistake) and there it was, in all the splendor of ambulance ramps, emergency entrances and employee parking.
We parked in a convenient space, strangely marked blue. We got out of the car and experienced the first stages of frost bite. Shivering, teeth rattling, we made it across the parking lot and proceeded toward the main entrance. We were looking for the lab. I noticed a cement ramp which led down into a dark hole reminding me (strangely), of a slaughter house. An innocent sign saying something about "laboratory" pointed us down to the hole. We ignored it and climbed the steps to the side entrance.
There was no receptionist so we wandered further down the wide hall to where plastic-covered maps with little red words "you are here" did nothing to help us. Below, at a height that was actually readable for people less then seven feet tall, was an extremely helpful and comprehensible chart listing the different parts of the hospital contained on each floor. My mother discovered where we needed to be in no time at all. I stood and twisted my skirt in incompetent unease while trying to dig a hole in the linoleum with the toe of my ballet flat. Directions make me nervous.
My mother brought the elevator up and we got on. Since I wasn't even sure whether we were supposed to go up or down I left the button pushing in the capable hands of my mother. Up or down, we stepped off the elevator into a hall that looked eerily similar to the last one, stacks of empty boxes and all. Discreetly placed signs directed us down a hall to our left with a small waiting room off to one side. Several chairs sat against the wall of the wide hallway, facing the little waiting cubicle. All the other empty chairs were too close to occupied chairs for any true peace of mind, so we took those against the wall. I pulled out my hand sanitizer and slathered it on.
The receptionist finally decided to return to her window and my mother went to make arrangements and fill out forms and papers. I idly plaited tiny braids into my hair and kept a sharp eye out for handsome young interns. A gurney, which I assumed to be carrying an endangered patient, screamed by, heading for the double doors further down the hall but it was only a bored lab assistant with a tray full of test tubes. My mother beckoned me from the around the door of the office. I rose and joined her. I struggled to shut the door behind me and finally managed to. We were pressed so tightly between the wall and the desk I wondered if I could get the door open again.
Finally the woman behind the desk handed us some papers and after struggling with the door we reemerged. A door at the far side of the cubicle/ waiting room opened and a confused young man in scrubs and tennis shoes peered out.
"They're next." The receptionist clarified. My mother had insisted they take us together. To have done otherwise would have ruined the mother daughter outing.
The young man beckoned and we followed him into a room that appeared to be either meticulously organized or in the later stages of destruction. This impression gave me an unusual feeling as he directed me to a chair that looked something like an adult highchair. I sat. my mother took a seat in another chair of identical description.
"Alright." The young man rubbed his hands together in a gesture of indecision. "Who goes first."
My mother smiled bravely. The man in scrubs nodded and picked up her paper. "Can I have you spell your name and tell me your date of birth." My mother proceeded to comply. "Oh. They've written down the wrong date here." The young man stared at the page. "I'll have them fix it. One moment." He darted out of the room. A second later he was back and while we waited for the correction of my mother's papers he started on me. I'd gotten no further then the second letter of my first name when he broke in, "Oh, uh....they did that wrong too." He grinned weakly. "One second."
Finally, papers corrected, we continued. My mother once again accepted the position of first victim and in no time she was holding a cotton ball to her arm, a white badge of courage. The lab technician turned his attention to me. I stared in horror as the man in scrubs tore the tops off of several assorted packages of dubious content. I cringed at he wiped the designated area of my arm with an unidentified liquid.
"No anesthesia?" I murmured faintly. The technician laughed politely.
There are times in ones life that show us our true metal. Times of intense stress, pain, or physical challenge. Thankfully we do not often experience all three together in one life crushing trial. I realized, as the needle descended, that I was about to.
"How are you doing?" asked the man in scrubs.
"Fine. And you?" The eternity was nerve breaking.
"Just hold that there."
My fingers fumbled for the cotton ball, my mind scrambling to reorient itself. Where was I? How had I gotten here? My name. I couldn't remember my name!
"Tape okay for you Alissa?"
It came flooding back in the form of a slow motion slide-show documenting the many times my name had been mispronounced. I really should have been grateful for the lab technician's unwitting assistance but the butchering of my name made me scowl.
"No, I'm allergic."
My mother took over the thank you's and with her help we made a graceful exit, minus tape for my cotton ball.
Back in the car my mother sighed with satisfaction. "We need to do this more often."
There can be a dark side to quality mother daughter time.
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