2003 Journal Links

Archie fights sleep with a fierce tenacity. He screams, and kicks, and arches his back. He pushes his bottle or pacifier away and paws at my face with his sweaty hands. I try to cajole him to nap by walking, and bouncing, and rocking, and singing. “Why don’t you want to nap?” I asked him today, wondering if he could sense the incredulity in my voice. “I wish I was expected to nap every day.” But Archie only answered with his annoying “Na, na, na, na…” whining, thumb in his mouth. I would have lost patience with Archie an hour or so ago if I didn’t love him so damn much.

I took Archie to the hospital earlier today, to keep his appointment with the hematologist/oncologist. Archie rode in his stroller through the parking garage, into the building, and onto the elevator, and smiling at everyone we passed. He babbled at D. J., the lab technician, until she stuck his finger. Archie shrieked then, an ear-piercing wail of a sound. The old man in the lab across the hall cringed, but I couldn’t help but smile. I love it when Archie screams out with power. Take that, congestive heart failure, ugly phrase that you are. You, too, preemie lung disease, whatever you really are, anyway.

Up in the doctor’s office Archie was greeted with enthusiasm. “Hello, Archie!” one nurse called out. “Would you look at that happy baby?” Archie was trying to crawl up my chest, right over the top of my head.

“He’s a handful!” I assured the nurse.

“Yes,” she responded. “But we’re so happy for it, Momma, especially after that scary beginning of his!” Doctors’ visits have taught me that no matter how long ago Archie’s past may seem, it is never more than a breath away among the people who care for him.

Another nurse took Archie’s vitals. “Blood pressure is seventy-over-fifty, Momma. Mr. Archie, that’s perfect!” The baby laughed in response.

With his clothes on, Archie weighed seventeen-and-a-half pounds. “How old is Mr. Archie, Momma?” the nurse asked.

“Ten months today,” I answered.

“Ohhh, Mr. Archie! You doin’ good!” Apparently this nurse recognized incredulity when she saw it on a mother’s face. “You surprised, Momma?” I nodded in response. “The rule’s ten pounds a year… Twenty pounds by age two and you doin’ good,” she explained. “And active like him? The active ones are always smaller than the others,” she added.

When Dr. Schmidt came into the room he got down on the table, his face next to Archie’s. Up on his arms, Archie smiled and laughed, drooling on the doctor’s hands. “Sorry,” I offered. “He’s cutting three new teeth.” Archie’s two bottom teeth, which appeared only a few weeks ago, have been joined recently by three new, rather large, looking teeth on top.

“That’s o.k.!” Dr. Schmidt said happily. The doctor then explained to me that Archie’s numbers looked great and told me that he didn’t think he needed to see us again for three months.

“Really?”

“Yeah, really,” he answered, smiling. “Unless you’d rather come in every month.”

I shook my head and laughed. “I think we’ll pass.”

“He’s doing so well. I just don’t think I need to see him so often anymore. Of course, don’t feel like we’re kicking you out. If you see anything you don’t like at all, just call and we’ll bring you right in,” Dr. Schmidt said. He sighed then and looked from Archie to me. “To look at him now you can’t help but believe in miracles.”

“Baba, dada, baa, daa, baabee,” Archie answered. I wonder what he was trying to say.

Before we went to the hospital this morning, Archie had an appointment with his occupational therapist, Laurice Smith, at Kidnetics. When he was finished, Laurice took Archie into the hall to the center’s Olympics display. She hung a gold medal around his neck and took a Polaroid photo in front of a drawing of the Olympic rings. Laurice then wrote Archie’s name on the bottom of the photo with a fat, black marker and hung it on the wall filled with photos of other kids with their gold medals. Also hanging on the wall was a sign that read, “Celebrating the Winner in Every Child.”

Yes, every child is a winner. Some just have a few more hurdles to jump than others on their way to the finish line.