Pain and Parenting

As Christie wrote earlier, Flannery had a visit with her doctor this afternoon, and that visit led to an appointment with a phlebotomist at the Elliot lab to have blood drawn. Christie is the better parent for talking to the doctor, and I get these kinds of assignments - the ones that involve pain and blood. Makes sense - Daddy is supposed to be strong and unflappable. That should be what little girls expect.

Flannery put on a brave facade all the way to the lab. Christie prayed over her before we left the house. Then Flannery and I talked about it on the way. It was clear she was nervous, but equally clear that she was trying hard not to let it show. I was proud of her for that. That facade lasted right up until the phlebotomist put the tourniquet around Flannery's upper arm. I had warned the woman that Flannery would recoil, and she did, crying and trying to dig her way between me and the back of the chair where she and I sat. A second phlebotomist and I held her while the first one did the procedure - which was quick.

This made me think about one of the many challenges of parenting. Clearly, I had just put my daughter in a position to have someone else inflict pain on her. Christie and I had talked to her about it beforehand - "you will just feel a pinch and then it will be over" - but that did not make it any easier for her to withstand it. Nor did my commanding her to sit still do any good. Obedience to her parent was not the first thing on Flannery's mind, once she shifted into self-preservation mode. This incident made me recall a time when Flannery could not have been more than 3 years old and her doctor suspected she had a urinary tract infection. It is too much to ask a 3-year-old to pee in a cup. So this same lab used a contraption that must have been modeled on a medieval torture device. I will spare you the details (think strong tape, plastic tubing, and a sensitive part of the body) but suffice it to say that Flannery screamed while I helped hold her down. I cried right along with her.

We know as adults that pain can be a good thing. It is a signal that our body is doing what God created it to do. But how do you explain to a child - even a precocious one like Flannery - that the pain serves a greater purpose, that it can eventually lead to healing? I don't know. Will she hold this against me on some subconscious level? I doubt it. But this is one area of parenting that wasn't in our version of the Parenting 101 manual. I don't like to see my girls hurting, and I wish I could take the pain for them. Of course, I also know that pain can build character, and I want that for them as well.

Flannery bounced back quickly this afternoon. As soon as the needle was out, she stopped crying, smiled, and let me comfort her briefly (a rare occurrence for Flannery). I can see the character building already.