A Typical Potsie Day


She is graciously composed. Inside, dying to scream at someone. Anyone. The entire world. Her misty eyes speak a thousand words. Words only I can hear. Though she is hesitant, she is learning to speak out, allowing her voice to empower her. When she cannot, I am her voice. I am her advocate. There is nothing I would not do to remove her pain and the torture of the many tiny needles. The nurses fully adopt the mantra, if at first you don't succeed try, try again. It's time to bring in the backup nurses. This is where I pointedly remind my seventeen-year-old, in front of the frustrated crew assembled before her, "This is YOUR body. Only you get to decide when you've had enough." Today, it only took three nurses to progress. This is why an IV team is necessary.

It will not be long before clouds of blue and purple reach the surface of her translucent skin, another blunt reminder of her body's inadequacy. She stares out into nothing as the music plays on. For today, the worst is over. We sit and wait for the fluids to run dry as the alarms sound around us. We are thankful for the nurses who genuinely care. Today is another typical Thursday in the pediatric unit.

This is what a hard stick looks like, and it's just beginning. 

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