Tamara wasn't keen on the idea and it's understandable considering she doesn't attend any hospital on a regular basis. It was clear to me that fears crept in rather quickly at the mention of it, so I said something like, "If we don't see a doctor, you're gonna get worse and worse. You're special to me and I care about your body, so let's get going, okay?"
She agreed very reluctantly.
She became feverish in the hospital's waiting area and, thankfully, we were finally escorted into a room (it was similar to the one in which I had once enjoyed a picnic with my son, Trevor).
Under the Doctor's supervision, she underwent a barrage of vitals checks and a chest x-ray. The blood test was particularly distressing for her. It wasn't the test itself that was bad, it was her apprehension leading up to it. Through tears, she said, "I don't want a blood test!"
|I like the lobby in the Abbotsford hospital.|
Around midnight, the doctor ordered for her to have an IV. Getting jabbed in the hand with the intravenous needle was the most painful for Tamara. Even with the numbing cream, it hurt terribly. Sometimes receiving medicine means experiencing pain, but if you want to become better you have to suck it up and consent, trusting it's going to help you in the long run.
A nice man, who called himself the porter, wheeled the sleepy girl into an elevator and through the hall to the pediatric wing. While they rolled along, I walked beside and briefly imagined it was me on the bed, flying through the air.
Anyway, Tamara stayed two nights in the hospital with an IV and now she's home, back to her usual cheery, whiny, active self.