I am taking a week off of the weigh-in. I am discouraged and don't want to quit.

So today Finchie wakes up and for the 11th day in a row BARFS several times. I told him to go back to bed. I went to work and was greeted by a very upset employees who had a verbal altercation with another employees and the first one was in tears and HELL I didn't need this! (By the way, after I slept from 3:30 to 9:30 last night, I went to bed at 10:30 and slept through the night!)

So I try to calm the 2 employees down until Chicky got to work so then I handed it over to her. I got a call from the Dr.s office saying that they wanted Finchie at the hospital for a CBC, CMC, and CT Scan.

So, like a good mother, I delegate what I can, quickly finish what I can't, and then fly home. The boy is NOT happy about having a blood test. It's not easy being the child of a phobic. But we got to the hospital, I warned the lab tech that I am phobias, that Finchie has been exposed to my phobia and not to go in until he had his target ready and set. Perfect. Lab guy heeded my warnings and did good. On to X-ray.

We were presented with a large tumbler of liquid to drink (him, not me). He was having an abdominal and pelvic CT-Scan with contrast. No one said anything about needles, and once they gave him the liquid I thought, OK. So when they called his name, he was good to go, and settled in to People Magazine to get the scoop on Ben-Lo.

A few minutes later I heard my name called, and a little Asian lady meekly told me that he wanted me to be in the room with him.

"Are they using needles?" I asked.

"Well, they are having trouble starting the I.V."

DAMMIT! Why didn't they tell me that? I mean, I suppose I might have assumed as much, but would it hurt them to tell us what they planned on doing? Finchie is very quirky in that he has to know everything, and I mean EVERYTHING that is going to happen or he gets really tense. So I go in and I find out that they tried and missed his vein. A lab technician was at the helm, trying again. I told her about my crappy veins. She smiled at me like I was stupid, poked him and missed.

I thought I'd smack her right there. This is her job! Hit the freaking vein, or recognize that you might NOT hit the vein and WAIT! But no, miss machismo had to go for it and Finchie's expense. He now had 2 holes in his arms and nothing to show for it. I again told her that he must have veins like mine, deep and roly. And he was likely dehydrated so they'd be harder to get. She patted him on the shoulder and promised that she was going to take one more look, but that she would not try unless she was sure, and at any rate if she DID miss she would pull right out and not dig.

You know what's coming right?

She missed. And she dug.

That is until I barked at her to PULL IT OUT AND GET AN IV TECH. NOW!

I was trying very hard not to shake Finchie up any more than he was. He was trying so hard not to cry, but he was visibly pissed off at her for doing exactly what she said she WOULDN'T do. He was trying to believe me and them about what was going to happen, and when he got lies, it shook him all up.

After several long minutes the IV Tech showed up and I asked her to step into the hallway. I informed her that between Finchie and me, there was maybe one last nerve left to work with. I informed her that he was on the verge of snapping and had stated that if she missed and dug, he would exercise his rights as a human being and get up and walk out. I told her, as nicely as I could since she wasn't the one I was pissed at, that I expected them to get his arms packed in heat, dangles them, smack them, pump them, squeeze them and stand on their frigging heads if they needed to, but that they did NOT have permission to jab that arm unless they KNEW they had a vein and they KNEW They'd get it!

She was very understanding. She did good. It took her about 15 minutes to get it, and she talked to him about the process and the progress (or lack of) each step of the way. But he came home all bruised. And since he's been puking without any food in him, we decided to get something to eat on the way home. Yeah, he puked when he got home, but he said it was worth it.

Bottom line, lesson learned: DON'T MESS WITH MY KIDS!

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