That's how
many, on average, my son has in any given year.
104 times
each and every year I must prepare medication, draw it up into a syringe,
before sticking the sharp end into my little boy.
More, if you
count the extra shots for blood tests he needs to monitor the effect of what we
inject.
You better
believe both he and I hate it every single time.
See, despite
being diagnosed with supposedly the 'best' type of Juvenile Arthritis there is
(if there is any such thing as 'good' JIA), with traditionally the best
prognosis for remission- medicated or spontaneous- by the time a child hits
adolescence; my child isn't following the textbooks and instead of stopping the
meds, we've had to increase instead.
9 years into
this JIA journey, he and I are still finding a way to making medicine more fun.
When your
child is first diagnosed with a disease like Juvenile Arthritis, a parent- usually
the mother (nothing against dads, it's just the way it is) gets a fast track to
a medical degree, without the fancy certificate to whack on your wall.
You pick up
the lingo almost by osmosis to understand the parade of practitioners you pass on
the path to a pain-free childhood. I can discuss ANA, CRP, ESR, FBC, and LFTs
with the best of them (my Beloved however has missed a few lessons and doesn't yet know his RFs from his ABCs).
You also get
a few tips on how to administer medication at home that is more at home in a hospital.
If you're lucky, it comes as a liquid that's fairly well received. Tablet
form's a little harder to swallow. If you've ever given a
pet a pill, you'll know just how hard it can be. One of the tricks is
hiding crushed tablets in foodstuffs of similar colour until they catch on -
despite our best intentions our son still has an aversion to yellow food
(Methotrexate is yellow). He's not alone, studies
have shown kids all over the world have had the same reaction to cheese, custard,
bananas, even egg yolks.
When all else
fails, it's needle time.
For someone
who's never given an injection before, it's a pretty daunting task. Tougher still if you're among the many who have
needle phobia and faint at the sight of blood (my Beloved again).
They tell you
to practice on an orange, or any citrus fruit with a skin similar to that of a
human body - just take an empty syringe and practise poking the needle through.
A little deeper for intramuscular injections, a little less for subcutaneous (see, told I could do medico-speak).
Braver folk
take the next step and stick it into themselves, to find the spot that's as painless
as possible. I've only
ever done so by accident (it wasn't that painless, incidentally), and over the
years I've become much better at avoiding needlestick injuries.
There are
also ways to numb the site so it'll be alright on the night. But EMLA® and AnGEL®
both take time to work...time for fretting about what's to come. Ice can numb the skin, but also makes it
tougher to pierce and it's more like poking through a watermelon than an
orange. After a few years of tears, the doctors told us as long as the skin
itself is clean, you can go without, which reduces the pre-emptive fear
somewhat, if not the sting itself.
We've come
through it about 364 times so far. That's like a needle every day for a year,
with a day's grace for Christmas.
And so twice
a week for the next year or so we will do it again, and my little boy and I
will share the pain with the purpose of one of these drugs working one day.
104 more chances
to stop a disease in its tracks, and bring an end to using my son as a human
pincushion for the rest of his life.
I don't want
to think about how many needles we'll be up to, if we don't.
Jx
©2012
