Seeking a vein, seeking help, and seeking grace and forgiveness
Accessing my son's vein with a needle took an emotional toll
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If I could go back in time, I would learn to control my anger sooner.
I didn’t say unkind things or become physical, but my voice did get loud enough to frighten my children. After I regained my senses, I would punish myself for the panic I saw in my sons’ eyes. This is not easy to write, but I need to own what happened as I tried to navigate the uncharted waters of my sons’ hemophilia.
When my oldest son, Julian, was 1, he needed medicine every morning. A port-a-cath made that routine manageable, so for four years, we accessed his port every day without any trouble, using numbing cream to help him stay calm.
But after five years, Julian’s hematologist said intravenous access would be safer and suggested removing the port. We didn’t understand the emotional cost of doing that until it was too late. From then on, our son’s medicine was delivered via a needle in a vein.
Searching for a vein, and forgiveness
The first time I inserted the needle into the vein in Julian’s hand, he screamed. I succeeded on the first try, so everything seemed fine, but the second time began months of struggle. Julian would pull his hand away, scream, and fight the process. And I would panic.
I remember yelling, “We must do this. Please be still so I can get the needle in.” The louder he screamed, the louder I yelled. Finally, I stopped searching for a vein and went and sat in frustration.
My wife, unsure how to help us, asked me to leave the room and calm down. To my surprise, the time away gave me the peace I needed. I returned, coached Julian through his fear, and infused him while he cried. But afterward, I felt like a failure. Why had I raised my voice? Julian deserved better. He had done nothing wrong. He was responding as any child would have when faced with a needle.
This continued for about a year. Each treatment filled me with dread, and, too often, I lost my temper.
Finally, I went to see a counselor. I told her how angry I became when Julian tried to escape the needle, and how much it hurt both of us. What she asked me next changed everything. Was I committing a venial sin or a mortal sin, she wanted to know? A venial sin was a wrong action, but a mortal sin took a life. Of course, it was a venial sin.
The counselor told me to stop living like I had committed a mortal sin. She told me to go home and apologize to him.
When I got home, I told Julian I was wrong for getting too loud, and I apologized.
Julian said, “That’s OK, Dad. I know you wanted to help me, and you got frustrated.” Fighting tears, I hugged him and told him nobody, not even me, had the right to raise their voice at him. I told him I would do better.
Julian is 30 now. We have talked about his childhood and his fear of needles. “I just thought you were scared,” he told me. I admitted I was. But I found help and I’m grateful for that because it taught me to stop confusing guilt with truth, to apologize, and to heal.
Note: Hemophilia News Today is strictly a news and information website about the disease. It does not provide medical advice, diagnosis, or treatment. This content is not intended to be a substitute for professional medical advice, diagnosis, or treatment. Always consult your physician or another qualified healthcare provider with any questions you may have regarding a medical condition. Never disregard professional medical advice or delay in seeking it because of something you have read on this website. The opinions expressed in this column are not those of Hemophilia News Today or its parent company, Bionews, and are intended to spark discussion about issues pertaining to hemophilia.
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