Yesterday we topped the list on ways to torture Ché. He's been having leg pain at night, always in the same leg, and always at night. For awhile it was happening a couple times a week. Since it was only one leg, and he's generally not a complainer we thought it was something that we should have checked out. The other thing that tipped us to have it checked out is that the leg that is sore all the time isn't the one that was broken prior to us adopting Ché.
So we did. We took him to our family doctor, who said he had good range of motion and that everything looked fine. I asked if it was because he might be him overcompensating for his short leg. We were told it was a possibility, but that the Dr. wanted to run some tests to check it out. He started to say, "If it were my son..." but he stopped. I know this meant that he thought we shouldn't worry about it, but it causes pain which usually ends up in a dose of Tylenol and 20 or more minutes of rubbing and sometimes an ice pack in order to get him to go back to sleep, so it really is a big deal. So, Dr. ordered an x-ray and a blood test.
The x-ray was no big deal, in fact the x-ray tech even showed Ché the pictures, so he got to see his own bones. Interestingly enough though, kids that age don't have kneecaps.
Then there was blood test, which we did yesterday. When we went to the lab we did our best to keep Ché updated on what was going to happen. We were honest that it was going to hurt a little bit, but that the pain would go away. So he was alright. Climbed up into the chair, got his arms out, let the lady do the tourniquet, the alcohol wipe, she had the needle ready to go, and not a peep out of him. Then the insert. And the crying, although I have to say not bad at all. He even held still for her because she asked him too. He stopped crying before it was done, and then was so excited to get the big blue band-aid.
He wouldn't give her a high-five, but did take the stickers from her and tell her thank you, so he must not have had to much animosity towards her.
He was good, we congratulated him on being so well behaved, rewarded him with fruit snacks and a trip to the park and he was fine. But on the way out the door, to leave the lab, the comment was made, and Mike and I just had to stop from rolling on the floor:
"My blood hurts, Mama."