A Different Kind of Need

The first time Ari started wheezing we went to our pediatrician, got a couple of prescriptions and started using a nebulizer. Within a week or two she was fine and we chalked it up to the harsh winter weather.

The second time Ari had some wheezing it was a year later. Again, it seemed, it was triggered by the extreme cold. And again we treated her with inhalers and nebulizer treatments and it quickly became a thing of the past.

The third time it started, it was September –- we could no longer blame the climate. We could, however, blame me. I have asthma. So we knew from the beginning that both kids were at risk of developing it.

This time I took Ari to my allergist. They strongly suggested we do some allergy testing – which meant covering her back with droplets of different allergens and poking them. It’s called a skin prick test, I suppose, because when you’re lying on the table getting poked and scratched by dozens of needles one has the strong urge to call the doctor a prick. I know, I’ve had it done myself.

For an adult, it’s unpleasant. But for a four-and-a-half year old kid, it’s painful. As it is for her thirty-eight year old mom to have to stand by and watch someone hurt her child.

I held Ari’s hand and talked to her through her tears. I made promises of treats and handed her a new Polly Pocket doll and squishy hand and lollipop once the testing was over. She really was a trooper.

The whole experience made me think of all the parents whose children have a physical disability or medical condition and the pain they must experience as a matter of routine. Max’s difficulties had certainly put us through the ringer over the years, but the routine pain for us was strictly emotional. Sure, Max underwent his share of tests, but the only poking he was subjected to was limited to his brain.

Managing Ari’s asthma is pretty easy, especially compared to managing Max’s everything else. Still, with the formal diagnosis came the realization that we have yet one more thing to concern ourselves with. One more thing that needs close monitoring. One more thing that calls for daily medication. One more thing fighting for space in my already crowded and exhausted brain.

One more special need.