This little hand. It was this little hand they stuck the needle in. It was a needle removed from a standard syringe and then stuck at the back of her hand. When she was four and a half months old, she had a fever. I took her to the paediatrician and a dengue antigen test was recommended. So, I took her to the Durdans test lab and my little girl was kept on a counter. The needle was stuck in her hand and her blood was drawn, drop by drop, to fill 1/3 or so of a small canister.
She shrieked and cried, looked at me with tears streaking her face, eyes pleading, in pain she cried. My precious little darling. When she struggled against the three pairs of hands holding her down, the needle would move away from the canister and her blood would spill, making the process longer and more torturous.
The nurses and lab assistants were kind and caring, but they didn’t allow me to let her suck on her soothie. And to this date, I don’t know why. When it was finally done, I held her and I too cried for a good, long while. My husband wasn’t in the country. But I remember my mother holding me while I cried holding my little daughter.
When I received the test results a few hours later, I was relieved to know that it wasn’t dengue. But I don’t ever want her to go through something like that again (even though I know she will go through so much more than this). I wish I could protect her from all the pain and hurt in the world (even though I know I can’t). It was one of the hardest things I’ve done… and now I never want to let go of this tiny little hand ever again…