Needles, ugh

For those of you who don't know, I'm what the medical world calls "a tough stick." In other words, you better find someone good to stick me because my veins like to hide when someone is searching for blood. And may I add, because of this title, I know the misery and pain that come along with having to be poked multiple times by multiple people, with each time resulting in the professional fishing around in my arm poking at everything and anything trying to get a drop of blood. It is not fun. With low platelet levels during my pregnancy, I was stuck often during the last 2 weeks of my pregnancy, and then even there after. When I say often, let's say maybe 40 times, not exaggerating.
So, all of that said, today was Bryton's one year doctor appointment. He did awesome. He's in the 75% now across the board. He's doing okay on his milestones, and he was quite social with the doctor haha. But, thank you high lead county, 12 months also means his first blood test, like, real blood test. Turnicate, needle in the arm, blood test. And I was alone. (Thank you, H1N1 for taking my husband from me for this marvelous event.)
So we get to the hospital... and for it to be past nap time, I had a sane, wonderful child. But I found out today that if my child got no other genes from me, he got my veins. They stuck him 4 times before they ever struck gold. And I was the one holding my precious boy down. I was the one he was looking at like, "Why are you letting them do this to me," while tears streamed down his face. Don't get me wrong, I know it's for his good, and trust me, he's been fine the rest of the day, but during that moment, knowing he'd be fine when it was over, I fretted. Momma Bear was coming out as they fished and grinded that needle around in his arm, after minutes of it I heard myself (normally pretty soft spoken) say, "Ok, that's enough, it's time to try something different. This is ridiculous." I had had it. I'd set and held him for many minutes while they fished in one arm, and my shirt was soaked with tears. When they took the needle out and I could love on him he grabbed me around the neck and sobbed. My heart lay broken on the floor, I'm pretty sure. Then, we got to try again in the other arm. And then again, and then again. And I sat and watched, and even helped, as strangers who didn't love my precious son poked needles into his flesh and caused him pain. And I, as a parent, finally understood the "it hurts me more than it hurts you."
And it was just needles, not nails. How God stood by and allowed his son to be beaten and nailed to a cross by people who did not know Him, even knowing the outcome, I will never understand. When Jesus called out, "My God, my God, why hast thou forsaken me?" I feel like it would have been the look Bryton gave me today, "Why are you letting this happen? Aren't you supposed to protect me?!" Everything doesn't have to be a spiritual experience, but I think God has something to teach us in all of our experiences... and I have a growing awe of God as I continue in my experience as a parent.