“How often is she waking up at night?” Doctor Mendez asked, smiling at Rebel as she let her blow warm air on the end of her stethoscope.
“Some nights it’s only like three times, but other nights it’s been six or seven.”
“Whoa, so you’re really not getting any restful sleep,” the doctor replied.
“Couldn’t you tell?” I joked, waving my arm in front of me to call attention to my sweatpants and greasy hair.
She laughed. “Well, sometimes, kids Rebel’s age just have wonky sleep patterns. But we’ll check her out and see if we can figure out what’s happening.”
She listened to Rebel’s heart and lungs, then pushed on her little belly, making my baby laugh and squirm. When she pulled out the little thing to check her ears, Rebel froze, then scrambled back onto my lap.
“Mama,” she said frantically, her little fingers digging into my skin.
“She’s talking? That’s great!” the doctor said, keeping her voice cheerful as she moved closer.
“Just one word,” I replied, rubbing Rebel’s back. “But it’s the best one.”
“Who knows, it might be the word that opens the floodgates,” she said, leaning down to steady Rebel’s head as she looked in her ear.
“You think?” I asked, tightening my arms as Reb began to squirm.
“I’ve seen it happen,” Doctor Mendez said with a nod. “All done with that ear, Rebel, can I check the other one, please?”
We wrestled with Rebel until her head was turned far enough for the doctor to get a good look in the other ear, and my stomach rolled as Rebel whimpered against my chest. I hated when I had to make her do stuff that obviously scared her. It seemed like a trend with us, since she had to go to the doctor more often than most kids and they always seemed to have to poke and prod at her.
“Okay, all done, Rebel.” Doctor Mendez leaned back on her little rolling stool and met my eyes. “She’s got ear infections in both ears, which is probably why she didn’t want me to touch them.”
“Oh, crap. Again?”
“They’re not too bad this time, but I want to take a look at her tonsils, too, before you go.” She glanced down at Rebel and gave me a wry smile. “We’ll give her a couple minutes before I bug her again.”
We left the doctors office a half an hour later with a prescription for antibiotics and the news that Rebel needed tubes put in her ears. We’d been dealing with ear infections her entire life, and I knew that the tubes were the next line of defense against them, but that didn’t calm my panic. They were going to have to use general anesthesia for the procedure, and people with Down syndrome were notoriously sensitive to anesthesia.
I tried not to think about all the things that could go wrong, but it didn’t work. I was freaking out.
I’d dealt with Rebel’s medical issues her entire life, and honestly, we were lucky. She’d never had to have invasive surgery or even an IV before, and I knew that there were a ton of kids in the world that went through those things on a daily basis for their entire lives. I was a nurse. I’d seen them.
However, those children weren’t my children.
I needed someone to tell me it was all going to be okay. I needed my dad.
I put Rebel in the car and got into my seat, calling my dad before I’d even put the key in the ignition.
“Hello?”
“Hey, Dad. Want to have dinner tonight?” My voice wobbled a little.
“What’s wrong?” he barked, and I could hear him shuffling something in the background.
“Nothing. We’re fine.”
“Something’s wrong,” Dad argued.
I glanced in my rear view mirror at Rebel, whose head was already listing to the side as she fought to stay awake. “Reb needs tubes in her ears,” I said quietly.
“We knew this was coming, right?” he said gently. “Just a matter of when.”
“Yeah, but the anesthesia—”
“Come on over to the house,” he said, cutting me off. “I’ll head home now and meet you there.”
“We can just come over later,” I said, dropping my head back against the seat.
“Nah, come now. I’m done for the day anyway.”
I laughed a little as he hung up the phone before I could argue further. He’d been pulling that move for as long as I could talk. If he was done with a conversation or didn’t want me to argue with him, he just hung up the phone or changed the subject so he didn’t have to hear it.
* * *
“Your grandpa isn’t a jungle gym,” I told Rebel after dinner that night as she stood on my dad’s thighs, trying to get a knee up on his shoulder so she could climb all over him.
“She’s fine,” Dad said with a laugh, smoothly setting Rebel back on the floor so she could climb her way back up again. “So what’s the news with the tubes?”