On Tuesday, I checked Emma out from school and met her in the hall. I had a tiny white pill in a baggie in my pocket and a small plastic cup in my hand. I was a little worried about how to explain why Emma should take this pill, but she was more than game.
Emma's not a particularly good pill taker and it took two swallows to get the thing down, at which point it had started to disintegrate. She let me know it was bitter and terrible, but she was still hoping that it worked.
Our wait in the doctor's office was a long one and I read and read and read to her. (As a side note, we read Glida Joyce Psychic Investigator. That is a terrible book! One of the subplots is about suicide--people who have committed it and a 13-year-old girl who is considering it. AND it talked about Gilda catching her brother and another character viewing pornography. That was treated very lightly. I edited and commented as I read, then I hid the book from Emma and returned it personally to the school librarian with my report. She was horrified and pulled the book.)
By the time we were called back, the Xanax had been on board a good, long time. The rest of the appointment went quite normally. When the doctor starting commenting about how much worse Emma's retina, that she looked up, worried. I guess the Xanax can't do everything. The blond lady with the chocolate, had a bag ready when we walked in the door. I grabbed the candy and walked Emma into the hallway, where there are chairs and shut the door.
Emma lost a little vision between this visit and the last. The medication isn't working, but they always give it three shots before they move on, the doctor explained to me. There are two more options. One is another shot that cost $2100 per injection and insurance won't cover it. The other is a laser treatment.
"I don't think the laser treatment is an option," Dr. One said. "I don't think she'll sit for it."
I had seen how relaxed Emma was leading up to this shot.
"She had Xanax on board this time," I told him. "Don't count her out."
Emma had brought a picture with her of some fungi she found on the internet. The fungi was pink and I taped it to the wall where they wanted her to look while she got the injection. The numbing shot went quickly and easily. Emma squeezed my hand, but sat perfectly still.
"That's it?" she asked when the injection was done.
As we waited for the Novocain to work, we walked down the hall to the bathrooms. Emma staggered slightly and guffawed loudly as we went. When we came back from our bathroom run, Emma was hilarious.
"You have four eyes!!!" Emma blurted, then burst into maniacal laughter that made her almost fall out of the exam chair.
I also had three noses and one of my eyes was in my hair. I couldn't help but laugh along. Not only was Emma not in terror, but she was having a genuinely good time.
Emma had no problem holding still for the real shot either, which included having her eye "washed" with iodine, the stick and rinsing the iodine out after. Dr. One was ecstatic.
"Bring that picture again!" he said with a wink.
As we walked (Emma staggered) out the door, Emma declared, "That was fun!"