Read or purchase the series at The Gifted Book Series
This is another story about my brother, Cody, and I. He must have been about two years old at the time, making me six. We were in the doctor’s office, getting our regular check-ups. For some reason, though, the nurse couldn’t find my little brother’s vein to take the blood sample. She had to poke him three or four times, complaining about rolly veins.
I didn’t mind shots or needles myself. I knew they didn’t hurt that bad. But watching my little bro getting continually poked, and watching him tear up at the experience, was too much for me. I started crying for him, and pleaded with my mom to “make it stop.” My tears must have scared Cody even more because then he started crying.
Irritated at my overreaction, my mom told me to knock it off, and, as she did so, the nurse said, “Got it!” The whole episode was over a few seconds later.
I remember being mad at my mom for chastising me for my display of compassion, but it must have been awkward for her to have two kids crying and the nurse trying to do something. Oh, well. Chalk it up to brotherly love and emotional immaturity. I was still pretty young, after all.Read or purchase the series at The Gifted Book Series