Our youngest daughter is not a fan of hospitals. Not that anyone we know is all...yay, we're going to the hospital!!!!...or anything...but if she were to measure up with her three siblings, when it comes to being squeamish, Hope has succesfully unlocked the "Holy Crap, I'mma Throw Up!" achievement medal at the age of 8.

If it is associated in any way, shape or form to the medical profession, she will work herself into a full blown anxiety attack and then projectile vomit all over your nice, crisp, white medical lab coat -- you're welcome!

At fourteen, it bothers her to no end whenever someone suggests she is simply being dramatic and clearly that someone has never witnessed anyone projectile vomit...like a boss.

Long story short: I've been taking medication for hypertension and monitor my blood pressure, regularly. And Hope had a breakthrough while visiting my Dad at the rehab center, where she actually walked inside, passed all the medical equipment and headed straight into my Dad's room, without throwing up.

Hope: Can you take my blood pressure?

It's the little moments, when your child opens herself up and attempts to control her fears, that make me agree to do things without thinking on it, too much.

Me: Sure, pull up a seat!

I gently wrapped the blood pressure machine's cuff around her arm and reminded her that it would slowly inflate.

[turning machine on]

It began to inflate and my precious, beautiful and ever so brave daughter began to lose her shit.

Hope: It's not stopping...it's NOT stopping...MOM...IT'S NOT STOPPING...AHHHHHH...MAKE IT STOP...GAAAAAAAH!!!!!

10 seconds later, it stopped.

Hope: Huh, that wasn't soooo bad, how'd I do?

[leaning over the machine]

Me: All things considered, your blood pressure isn't too bad at all.

Hope: GRIN!

Me: You're heart rate, on the other hand, is 128.

Hope: Yeah, BUT I didn't throw up!

End scene.