Game Over!

My two "lovely" children were unbelievably excited about mommy getting blood work at the hospital recently or as Emma says, having my blood stolen. It was an exciting game to them, a ballgame almost and while they sat, delirious in anticipation, I stood filling out paperwork.

It was Mom's team against the Doc's and I could well hear the game's commentator shouting in my head, "Ouch! Strike one against Mom's team; she's looking a little sour about the Living Will and DNR paperwork. By the way, that's Do Not Resuscitate, folks, and look at the crowd go wild!"

The crowd was going wild, they could barely keep their bums in their seats, Emma with a giant foam #1 finger (Go Blood) dancing high in the air and Brie laden with popcorn and a giant 32 ounce of soda; her head adorned with a "Go Docs!" pink ball cap. The two were chanting and stomping their feet, "Where's the blood, where's the blood?"

The receptionist, who was busily shocking me with one form after another pertaining to whether I shouldn't make it, (all this for same day surgery) glanced from my girls back to me. "They are so precious, and being so good,"

I took a moment to peek from home plate to the opposing team's "precious" fans; they were drooling and had an ever-growing scowl forming across their foreheads.

"When they going to steal your blood, mommy?" Emma inquired, looking absolutely livid that someone wasn't at that very moment poking me with a needle. Our hospital escort took this moment to appear, breaking up a potential riot in the stands, smiling from ear-to-ear, "They are adorable!" She replied, overlooking Brie's white tee shirt with bright red lettering that read, "Type AB Pos Rocks!"

We were led from one floor to the next, meeting one nurse after another, my opposing team's fans growing precariously impatient, asking of everyone when and whom was going to take their mother's blood. It was apparent that if someone didn't take Team Mom's blood pretty soon the Team Doc fans were going to be livid enough to do it themselves.

After seemingly visiting every floor, and every room, our hospital escort finally led us to the lab and departed, but not before leaning over to whisper in my ear, "You've darling girls, hope it isn't anything serious."

The ballgame commentator was shaking his head, "Ooooh, that would be strike two; this is a rough game folks. Mom's team is taking a beating and the crowd, look at them; they are calling for blood, literally!"

At the lab, which was a large room with equally large, comfy chairs and bright lights, I sat by the nurse while the girls sat off to one end of the room, blinking and being unnaturally quiet. It was the seventh-inning stretch, Emma hummed "Take me out to the ballgame" while the nurse messed with her collage of tubes, cotton and other Team Doc whatnots.

I relaxed, preparing for this next inning with my sleeve rolled up, and before I could get in a practice swing the blood was drawn.

"Would you hold that?" The nurse asks; I quickly press a finger to the cotton ball as she retrieves a Band-Aid.

Brie and Emma turn their heads in my direction; they have missed the biggest play of the game.

"Are you going to take her blood now?" Brie pipes in-between rumblings of her sister's humming.

"Already have, sweetie, your mom is all done!"

The commentator was anxiously getting to his feet, one hand firmly gripping the mic, the other running through his hair in absolute shock. "It's a homerun for Mom's team! I don't believe it! The crowd is in frenzy, they are storming the field! It's mad chaos here tonight!"

The girls heaped themselves onto the back of the nurse's chair, disappointment thundering across their faces.

"Where's the blood?"

"Where is it?"

"We missed it?"

Game over!

Originally published in the Daily Advocate 2007.

Bethany J. Royer-DeLong is currently entrenched at home fighting the good war against the gimmes and the I-don't-wannas. She blogs recklessly, as all mothers of children under the age of six should, and has been working on that "supposed" great American novel, times a dozen. You can visit her at motherofthemunchkins.blogspot.com and email her at broyerdelong@yahoo.com