Eyeballs, Needles and Two Brave Birds

Last weekend Stephanie and I saw in the new year surrounded by the love and comfort of my parents, my sister, her husband and clan of children along with Phoebe and Oliver of course - but either side of that was two quite different and unexpected experiences with hospitals, needles and two females I love dearly.

Firstly, I was asked by my Grandmother if I could take her to the eye hospital on Friday, the day before New Years Eve, which was fine with me. A routine check-up she told me, no problem I thought. Except, my Nan is 92 years old bless her and from right out of the Devonian old school, loud with it too, which can be cause for moments of embarrassment from time to time. Like singing “hear comes the bride” in the middle a busy waiting room at one of the nurses as she walked by. The nurse took it in quite good fashion, apparently Nan has been doing it for the past eight months despite the nurse not getting married until September!

Anyhow, what ended up being a routine check-up turned into another treatment for glaucoma on my Nan’s right eye. Again, “No problem” I thought, or I did until learning that treatment involved an injection into the eyeball itself - happening whilst the patient is still awake! If that sounds rather grim to you, trust me, I can’t personally think of anything worse!

Not wanting to let a 92 year old women down, I went into the treatment room with her, helped her get onto the bed whilst the engaged-to-be-married nurse applied preparatory eyedrops to the necessary place. A doctor came into the room and began her work, whilst I held a shaking Nans left hand. When the doctor applied a clamp onto her eyeball, revealing all but the back of my Nans eye I asked her permission to turn away. It wasn’t very pleasant viewing at all and I’d perhaps forgotten just how large our eyes actually are. It was only out of morbid curiosity that I remained facing my nan and watching the procedure as it took place.

I have since decided that its quite important when given the opportunity to see something like this, that you should take it and learn something from it. I’m not going to say that it wasn’t that bad after all, as I’d be lying. But it may well happen to me one day and sitting there watching my Nan go through something like that I can take her courage and apply the memories of what I witnessed to aid my own reassurance.

Once I’d gotten over that experience and tried blocking it out over the new year with a large portion of turkey curry, a full glass of festivity and a small dose of revelry with my nearest and dearest, it became clear that Phoebe had spent the better part of new years day getting progressively more ill. She’d started developing a cold in the lead up to Christmas and over Christmas Eve, Christmas Day and Boxing Day she’d had a blocked up nose and a steady cough, but on New Years Day her cries were notable of pain and discomfort rather than wanting cuddles and feeling sorry for herself.

Stephanie, for her own reassurance more than anything took Phoebe along to the Doctors, which was fortunately still open and from there she was told to take Phoebe along to the hospital so that she could get checked out by a pediatrician. The good news was, that although Phoebe had a rash that neither of us had noticed, she hadn’t caught meningitis but an overnight stay at the hospital was to be in her best interests.

Having Oliver in bed at home, I was caught in two minds. Both of us can’t be at the hospital and at home looking after Oliver at the same time, so I elected to stay at home and wait for Stephanie to call me. She was with her mum, so had plenty of adult company and of course the all important shoulder to cry on if the worry became too much for her. In the meantime I’m at home waiting, all the worst kind of thoughts and worries running through my mind and just as I find myself on the verge of mild hysteria, I was saved mercifully by Stephanie’s good friend Claire. She was originally supposed to pop in for an overnight bag for my wife, but suggested she swap places with me instead, which is how I came to find myself in another treatment room watching hopelessly as someone dearly beloved to me gets poked with a hypodermic needle.

I’ve never had a phobia of needles or a fear (in the eyeball excepted) when I’ve had to have an inoculation or blood test, but I can sympathise with anyone who says “I’ve a fear of needles”. It certainly wouldn’t surprise me in years to come if Phoebe turned around and said those very words to me, no doubt caused by the psychological damage from new year etched forever on her sleeping mind.

Finding a two month old babies vein is quite a difficult task by all accounts. It involves bending the wrist back quite acutely and tapping quite violently the front of the hand whilst cutting the blood supply off from the elbow. On the first attempt Phoebe certainly felt everything that was happening, especially the needle as it entered her hand and missed a vein entirely. Her ordeal was postponed for an hour or so as the Doctors had a greater need to attend to, which was fortunate as by the time they came back, Phoebe was able to sleep all the way through the second, successful attempt.

Seeing your children in hospital, wired up to monitors and being probed and pricked with hospital equipment is a nervous experience. We are fortunate that Phoebe had a fairly uncomplicated gastric virus and is now home and has since shown vast improvement. Plenty have and will go through much worse, but there isn’t much rational thought at times of worry.

Maybe it’s a way of life passing on a symbolic message, the end of a year and my grandmother, the beginning of a brand new one and my two month old daughter. Whatever the intention, I’ve certain learnt not to be squeamish, and that one day, I can only hope to be as brave as my Nan was. Something tells me that I won’t be, they’ll have to put me to sleep, so I don’ know anything about it - just like Phoebe.