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‘Might get the slippers too,’ the nurse continues. ‘You know the ones with the bobble Eeyore head. Eeyore is my favourite.’
‘Um,’ I nod. ‘I like Tigger, myself.’
Why do I sound so weird?I think. My voice is gruff as if I’ve been out partying all night and I’m hungover. This small talk is torture. Out of the corner of my eye I notice Kayla looking at me with her head tilted a little to one side and her forehead wrinkled as if to ask, ‘What the hell are you saying, Mam?’
‘Is it okay if I take a little blood, Kayla?’ the nurse asks, as she walks towards some drawers at the side of the room that I hadn’t noticed before.
Kayla’s neck elongates and her expression changes drastically. I try to reassure her with a wide smile, but I feel like such a fraud. I’m as caught off guard as she is. It’s not my veins getting a needle, but I wish it was.
‘Mam?’ Kayla whispers.
‘She had bloods taken in Cork last week,’ I say.
‘I’m sorry, Kayla,’ the nurse says, looking genuinely regretful. ‘I really do need to take some before your operation.’
‘It’s just a quick prick,’ I add, meeting Kayla’s beautiful blue, unsure eyes with mine. ‘Kind of a sting, but over before you know it.’
‘Do you want your mam to sit beside you, Kayla?’ the nurse asks as she rummages in the drawer.
‘Yeah,’ Kayla nods.
Tears prick the corners of my eyes.Why didn’t I think of that?Of course, I should be beside her. Of course I should.
I walk over to the hospital bed, which is much higher than a normal bed. Kayla uncrosses her legs and slides over until she’s pressed right up against the wall and I know the uncomfortable position is more about getting away from the nurse than making room for me.
The nurse looks at Kayla and then me. I shoot her a look that says, ‘Just give us a moment?’ and she smiles at me knowingly and pretends to be distracted with something in the drawer. I realise she must see this every day; parents having to coax scared children away from the wall, but I wonder if the nurse knows that the parents are probably just as scared. I never realised how goddamn terrifying something as simple as a blood test is until this very moment. It’s not the needle, of course, and I know that’s not what’s bothering Kayla either. It’s what the needle represents. It’s that start of a journey none of us want to be on. Poking and prodding and operations and nights in hospital.
‘C’mere, Kayla,’ I say stretching my arm out to her and waiting for her to take my hand. ‘It’ll be easier if you’re sitting up.’
Kayla shakes her head and I can feel pressure in my chest as if something horribly heavy is sitting on my heart, crushing it.
‘Trust me,’ I say.
Kayla doesn’t budge. I can hear the nurse close the drawer and I hope she doesn’t say anything. Not yet. I really want Kayla to take thisstep for herself and not because she feels pressured into it. God knows, I feel enough pressure for the both of us.
‘You know what?’ the nurse asks. ‘This is all a bit sudden, Kayla, isn’t it? I think I should give you and your mam some time alone. Maybe some time to try on those lovely fluffy socks would be good, wouldn’t it? I’ll come back later.’
‘Thanks,’ I say, looking down at the comfy socks I didn’t realise I was squeezing so tightly my knuckles are white.
‘No,’ Kayla says, sitting up and shuffling over to the edge of the bed while rolling up her sleeve. ‘Let’s just get this over with.’
I nod and smile at Kayla, proud. And, maybe a little confused. Then, I nod at the nurse. She nods back. I had no idea there would be this much nodding involved in Kayla coming into hospital. I wonder if gestures are easier than words when your whole life is turned upside down. But, as my legs wobble and my tummy is a single rumble away from throwing up in the bright-yellow bin behind the door, I realise: nothing is easy when your child isthissick. Gestures. Words. Eating. Functioning. They all go out the window.
‘Ready, Mam?’ Kayla says, her wide eyes searching mine for answers I don’t have.
‘Yeah,’ I say, pulling myself straight as if I have the confidence of Goliath. ‘Let’s do this.’
I drape my arm over Kayla’s shoulder as I lower myself to sit on the bed beside her. It’s bouncier than I was expecting and Kayla giggles when I almost fall off. Getting my balance, l smile and kiss the top of her head. The smell of coconut shampoo from her golden hair smacks against my nose.
‘You smell great, kiddo,’ I say, choking back tears.
‘Like holidays,’ Kay replies and I instantly think of the coconut sun cream I’m obsessed with slathering us in every time we go abroad.Factor 50 million, because our Irish skin burns easily, and those cancer warnings are all over the news and radio ads. ‘Tanned skin is damaged skin,’ they warn. But no one warned us about this.
To hell with sun cream,I think, staring at a mural of Baloo on the wall opposite Kayla. My God that thing is scary. It’s teeth are huge; painted oddly out of proportion with the rest of its body. I doubt it bothers Kayla much but I can only imagine that a small child would be terrified by a big grey bear ready to pounce off the wall to eat them while they sleep. Maybe I should say something?
‘That’s a girl, Kayla,’ the nurse says before poking her tongue between her teeth as her eyes squint with concentration. ‘You’re doing great.’
I hold my breath, wishing the nurse was stabbing the needle into me instead. And, when Kayla gasps and snuggles her head into the crook of my neck the way she did when she was a baby, my heart feels as if it drops from my chest and sinks into the pit of my stomach to weigh heavy there.
