The Lady In The Waiting Room

Here’s a story.

On that fateful day that I took all three of the kids to the doctors office by myself. I then had to take Little Miss and The Boy to have their blood drawn. When I checked them in I told the receptionist that The Boy was going to put up a fight. Having been on their side I thought it right and good that they have all the warning that I could give them.

There were a couple of ladies sitting in the small waiting room. My kids gravitated towards the books and toys. So I found a spot, two seats over from one of these ladies. We’ll call her Flo. She had that look on her face. A look, after six years, I’ve become acquainted to. It’s a happy face. The “you’re children are so special” face. I don’t mind the face. It’s just that when I see it my thoughts go to my children screaming and fighting. Not that I don’t see what they see. I just see it different.

Then Flo started getting chatty. Something else I’ve become accustomed to. Strangers sharing their life stories. For Flo it was her boyfriend’s grandson who was born with multiple health problems. The kicker was this. She said something like this, “he’s four months old and they think he might have…you know.” As she looks at my kids. A part of me wanted to play dumb. Like I didn’t know what “you know” was supposed to mean. Pretend like that’s what we were getting their blood drawn for. To find out if they had “you know.”

She kept going on and on about this little boy and his struggles. At one point she did finally say “Down syndrome.” I don’t really run into this kind of ignorance a lot. Perhaps I shelter myself from it. And I couldn’t really ever tell what she was wanting from me as she’s telling me this story. Did she want me to tell her how miserable my life is? Or even that it was buckets and buckets of fun? To be honest she didn’t really leave room for me to say much of anything. But the whole experience has stayed with me. I keep thinking about the look on her face when she said “you know.” It’s as if she was afraid to say it. Like it is some sort of swear word. To me it’s like saying, “my boyfriend’s grandsons is you know, blond.” It’s not something I’m scared of. Something we don’t talk about. It’s just chromosomes lady.

So to all the Flo’s out there. I’m sorry that your boyfriend’s grandson is having such a struggle with life. I really am. I can imagine his parent’s heartbreak. The unknown is very scary. That’s the reality of it. But as I sit here watching my kids run and play outside I realize that in that unknown there is beauty beyond compare.

Oh and the blood drawing experience? Little Miss was a champ. The Boy fought a little. But when I told him if he held still we could go and see dad he was golden.

Be positive