It was a week ago that Clark had a complete physical. He’ll be getting one yearly since he is now 40. Yikes! To me he is still the young boy who only needs a physical periodically (excluding yearly visits to the dentist and also to the neurologist because of his seizures). My husband and I took him with a small list of questions to ask the doctor. Part way through the physical Paul needed to leave for his scheduled racquetball game. I was surprised to find Clark finished when I returned after taking Paul to meet up with his racquetball buddy. Clark showed me his arms, each with a bandage, and tried telling me something about going to the hospital.
“Did you give blood?”
“Did they fill a small vial with your blood?
“Why do you have two bandages?”
“I don’t know.”
“I’m going in to talk to the doctor and you can stay in the car.”
The doctor, a long-time family friend, explained to me that he did indeed get one vial but two are needed. He had trouble with Clark’s veins (and didn’t want to hurt him) so we were to go to the out-patient clinic by the hospital for a blood draw. We went. I was happy to report when we checked in and I handed the receptionist the prescription that Clark had been fasting. We sat in the waiting room. Clark picked up my book. I was amazed that he quickly found words like “Rose” (his sister-in-law), “Thomas” (the name of a friend) and “Fox” (that’s what he calls fragile X—F.O.X.) but we mostly watched a young teenager with multiply problems who sat with two adults, one on each side of him. He was blind, couldn’t talk (he signed the word water) and had difficult behavior. When he was handed the glass of water he threw out his arms and the water soaked the front of his sweatshirt. When he was told he would have to take off his sweatshirt he decided he wanted more off and tried taking off his shirt and was successful in taking off his shoes. I was hoping the adults would look at me so I could give them a smile of encouragement. I know what it is like to sit in a waiting room with unruly children who do embarrassing things that attract attention. His name was finally called and then Clark’s. While Clark was giving blood (he has no fear) I opened my purse and looked for the granola bar I had put in before we left home. I knew Clark would be hungry. As he emerged I found an empty wrapper. When I confronted him he told me he was very sneaky. Yes indeed. Guess when he had eaten it—while I was in talking to the doctor and he was sitting in the car.