Pax stared at the old man in the mirror. His long hair had been clipped down to its pre-COVID length, and the beard that had made him look more cowboy than New Yorker was gone. He examined the crow’s feet around his eyes and scowled.

“When did I get so old, Kat?”

“You were old when I met you,” Kat laughed. “And every day you get older. But I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

He and Ally were taking Puck to the hospital for the first of many blood draws. When Puck was told, he responded with the exasperated “again?” typical of an eight-year-old. Given how annoyed he sounded, Pax thought it could have been something as mundane as time for a bath or time to finish his homework. His grandson’s lack of fear impressed him, reflecting Ally and Travis’s efforts to keep him calm and help him get used to the “little pinch” fib.

Pax would get jabbed in solidarity, allowing the hospital’s blood bank to have his first deposit. He also wanted Puck to see that his family supported him in every way, even if it meant sharing his pain with him.

As they sat in the hospital lab’s reception area, waiting for their turn, Puck remained quiet, his book open on his lap, his gaze focused on Papa’s shaved face.

After a few minutes, he said, “Mommy, I don’t want to be called Puck anymore.”

Ally looked up from her magazine. “What? Why not?”

“It’s a little kid nickname, and I’m a big kid now.”

“Yeah, you are,” Pax agreed. “You’re a big kid, and you’re fighting a big fight. Big kids like you deserve to be called what they want.”

“Yeah, Papa,” Puck replied, glancing around the hospital reception area. “This is some big kid shit right here.”

Ally’s eyes widened, and Pax resisted the urge to laugh so that his daughter could correct her son in her way.

“Paxton Leeds,” she stammered. “You might be a big kid, but you’re not big enough to start using the ‘S’ word. That’s a fourteen-plus word.”

“Sorry, Mommy.”

“Fourteen-plus?” Pax inquired.

“The rating systems they put on everything now—movies, books, video games. Puck… I mean, Paxton has been checking all those ratings to see if he’s old enough for whatever the thing is. So now I tell him what something is rated if it isn’t obvious.”

Pax confirmed, “So, s-h-i-t is ok after he’s fourteen?”

“Yes, Dad, and he can spell so...”

Puck, now Paxton, returned to his book, while Ally mouthed the words ‘Fucking Russell’ when he wasn’t looking, implying the source of her son’s colorful language. Pax laughed.

“Is this the famous Puck?”

The question came from a tall, well-dressed woman holding a clipboard. At first glance, Pax thought she could have been Audra’s twin. Jess Brynne was a Child Life Specialist assigned to assist Puck and his family in coping with the stresses of his journey toward healing. She had a big smile and kind eyes, and Puck liked her immediately.

“I’m not Puck anymore,” he said with an air of maturity. “I’m Pax now.”

Jess crouched next to his chair and pulled her mask over her mouth and nose.

“I see,” she said. “And when did that transformation happen?”

“Just now,” Ally replied as she introduced herself to Jess.

“And this is…” Jess said as she extended her hand for a fist bump with Pax.

“Pax the Elder, I guess,” he laughed. “But if you call me that, we can’t be friends.”

Jess laughed, and to Pax, it sounded like music.

“He’s Papa,” said Pax the Younger.

“Papa, it is, then,” responded Jess.

After the introductions, Jess explained her role at the hospital and that once little Pax was checked in, she would see him daily during his treatments.

“We’re going to be great friends,” she told Pax. “We’ll read books, play games, talk about how to care for yourself when you leave the hospital, and all kinds of other things. How does that sound?”

The little guy said it sounded pretty good, trying to emulate Papa’s direct approach to things. Jess handed the adults her business card, informing them they could call anytime, but she might not answer right away.

“My kids come first,” she said, “but I will always call back as soon as possible.”

They made small talk until the lab receptionist called their names. Jess left while the others were taken back to the lab. Puck, now Pax, would be the first to provide his small samples, followed by Papa, who chose to donate whole blood despite the guidelines that prevented him from donating again for eight weeks.

“Whole blood this time,” said the phlebotomist. “We can start weekly platelet draws when your red blood cells recover.”

With their matching Cookie Monster band-aids in place, the “little pinch” victims left the hospital and returned to the Allen house, equipped with more knowledge than they had when they departed that morning.

Little Paxton would need to return every day that week to ensure his blood wasn’t showing any signs of advanced anemia or other conditions related to his disease. Pax wished he could donate blood every time he accompanied his grandson, but he decided to trust the doctors and open his vein again in two months.

His most pressing concern was Ally. She spent much of her time that week on the phone with Travis and Lainey, who cried every time Mommy had to hang up. Pax knew she was struggling with being away from her daughter, but he understood a mother’s need to stay with her child in distress. He decided to help her resolve her dilemma. He was going to send Ally home.