He has a zero tolerance policy against any medical professional doing anything to him. And ever since he was a toddler, Jackson has had an extreme aversion to bandaids. When Darrell took him for the full body scan in November, Jackson got an IV in each foot—all the while fighting the effort, even punching a male attendant in the face, and calling out for his mom. Returning home, Jackson walked in the door, crying and pointing to his feet. Angy pulled off his shoes, then removed the bandaids. Jackson smiled, clapped, and galloped off. God only knows why bandaids are such a big deal to him.
During the appointment on Monday, Jackson looked very apprehensive sitting in the one of the guest chairs in the exam room—he doesn't get on the table until he's forced to. All it took for him to start crying was being made to step on the scale. (I usually weep when I weigh myself, but that's an entirely different matter.) When the nurse lowered the bar above Jackson's head to measure his height, he had a look of sheer terror. Worse than that was the little band she fastened to his finger to check the oxygen in his blood. Angy, the nurse, and I worked hard to comfort him and keep him from ripping the thing off.
We took a break before the dreaded blood pressure check. They moved us to a comfortable consultation room to help Jackson calm down. He stopped crying, but he never stopped rocking back and forth. It was the pronounced rocking he does when he's really upset. Then two nurses came in and took his blood pressure—once on each arm and once on his leg—as Jackson rocked, cried, and alternated between vigorous knee knocking and foot kicking. It was quite a workout.
After a lengthy consultation, we returned to the exam room. This time, Jackson had to strip to his skivvies and get up on the table, surrounded by eight people. His agitation meter shot up again. (I can't say I blame him on this one.)
Jackson cried and resisted the whole time on the table, except when asked to open his mouth wide for the doctor. One of Jackson's favorite pasttimes is opening his mouth wide while looking in a mirror or anything else with a reflection. After the mouth gaping, he'll smooth his hair back and flash a smile of delight. He often does this in the car, using the mirror on the sun visor. So for a few brief seconds, Jackson was okay on the exam table while performing this fun task. Angy and I clapped and told him what a good job he did.Angy has found Jackson looking at videos online about IVs and surgical procedures. He obviously realizes what's going on and has been doing some research, but we have no way of knowing his level of comprehension. Although we talk about Jackson's condition in front of him, I've been thinking that we need to talk directly to him more. So when we were in the waiting room, I kneeled down in front of Jackson, pointed at his chest, and told him that he has a problem with his heart and the doctor was going to fix it. I also told him that he already had heart surgery when he was a tiny baby, that God took care of him then, and He will take care of him now.
Throughout the visit, Jackson would often point to his chest and say, "Heart" (see a video clip). Afterward, we stopped by the hospital gift shop so he could get some candy. In addition to jelly beans, Jackson selected two heart-shaped suckers. Oh, to know what goes on inside his mysterious and wonderful mind. Oh, how comforting to know that God knows.
You understand my thought from afar . . . And are intimately acquainted with all my ways. (Ps. 139:2-3)The catheter surgery won't be until sometime in early January, so the doctor said to send Jackson back to school. Please join us in praying that he will stay healthy before the surgery, that it will be successful, and that Jackson will have special grace to endure whatever lies ahead.
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