Just a Story

This morning on our way home from her 12-year checkup, I told my daughter I wanted to write a blog post but had nothing to say. She looked at me sideways, the way only a middle school daughter can, and said, "You know what to write about." So I just have a story tonight, and maybe there's no moral at the end. But you've been warned. 💕

Today my little baby girl pre-teen daughter went to get her booster vaccines for 7th grade - three shots in a row. I've written in the past about how this child stares pain in the eye, and pain always looks away first. So I wasn't surprised that I flinched at the shots while she sat perfectly still. 

I was surprised a few minutes later when I turned around in the checkout line and saw her flushed red, staring blankly into space. The question: "Are you ok?" The answer: "No." My adrenaline spiked, ready for battle right there in the lobby. 

To give a little perspective on what her "no" meant, let me tell you a story. When Chloe was six, she fell off the monkey bars at our neighborhood park and said her elbow was hurting. I asked the pain scaling question, and she shrugged, "Two? It only hurts when I move it." I had her sit on the couch with an ice pack for an hour before I noticed her trembling. The question: "Are you ok?" The answer: "It just hurts a little." 

Turned out to be broken. A broken bone hurt "a little." 

So hearing her admit she wasn't ok today set the panic in motion. She said her eyes were getting blurry, the colors darkening, and her ears had a "weird sound" in them. To top it off, her legs and arms were bright red. 

I told the registration clerk we needed help, that my daughter was having a reaction to the vaccine. (A short lesson on assumptions: Everyone in the lobby probably assumed I meant the COVID vaccine, but that wasn't on the roster today.) 

Suddenly everyone behind the counter was running. Within seconds, Chloe was seated in a room with a nurse and physician, being assessed for an allergic reaction. The whole way there, all my prayers were the old standby: "Jesus, help us." 

Thankfully, she was fine. Her body had responded strongly, but she was ok after sitting with the doctor for a few minutes. We left and went to Panera to reward our bodies for surviving the trauma. 

And tonight I'll just say this: 

I'm grateful my girl is home tonight. I won't stop checking on her every five minutes for a while, and she won't stop telling me she's fine. But something like this puts into perspective how quickly life can change, how uncontrollable our lives really are. 

Out of our control, but in God's control - which, on balance, is fine since half the time I can barely manage to match my socks let alone keep the universe spinning. 

Talking about things this afternoon, Chloe told me she remembers that I got loud and demanding in the reception area (a first for me!). And she told me she was glad I did because it made people hurry to help her. 

She knows I was there for her in all the ways I could be, and that's enough for her. And I know my Father was there for us in all the rest, and that's enough for all of us.  

Thankful, 

Becki