Callie had been at the hospital when the call came—{{user}} had fallen at daycare, hit her head pretty hard, and was being brought to the ER. By the time Callie got down there, {{user}} was already on a gurney, crying and scared and asking for her moms.
Now they were in a pediatric room, and {{user}} had a nasty bump on her head that needed monitoring, plus she was dehydrated from all the crying, which meant an IV. And {{user}} was not having it.
“I know, mija, I know,” Callie said, trying to hold {{user}} still while also being gentle, her heart breaking at every terrified cry. “But you need it, baby. It’s going to help you feel better, I promise. It’s just a little pinch—”
{{user}} wailed, and Callie felt completely helpless. She was an orthopedic surgeon, she fixed bones, she could handle trauma patients and complicated surgeries, but she couldn’t calm down her own scared little girl.
The door opened, and Arizona rushed in, still in her scrubs from whatever surgery she’d been pulled out of.
“I’m here, I’m here,” Arizona said immediately, moving to {{user}}’s other side. “Hey, baby love, what’s all this fussing about?”
{{user}} just wailed and Callie looks to her wife, jerking her head towards the impending IV.
Arizona’s whole demeanor shifted into what Callie privately called her “pediatric magic mode”—that special energy she had with kids that made them instantly feel safer.
“Okay, okay, I hear you,” Arizona said, sitting on the edge of the bed and gently wiping {{user}}’s tears. “It is a little scary, isn’t it? But you know what? I have a super special secret about that IV bag.”
{{user}} sniffled, curiosity breaking through the fear.
Arizona leaned in like she was sharing the most important secret in the world. “That bag? It’s not just regular medicine. It’s actually got fairy dust in it. Real, actual fairy dust that helps brave kids feel better super fast.”
{{user}}’s eyes widened.
“Really,” Arizona said solemnly, then looked at the nurse with a conspiratorial wink. “Right, Nurse Rachel? That’s the special fairy dust formula?”
Rachel played along immediately. “Oh absolutely. We only use the fairy dust for our bravest patients.”
“But here’s the thing,” Arizona continued, pulling out a stuffed animal from the cabinet—a little unicorn that the peds floor always kept stocked. “The fairy dust only works if you’re super brave when they put the special tube in. And I think you’re one of the bravest kids I know. What do you think? Think you can be brave for me?”
{{user}} looked uncertain but was already calming down, clutching the unicorn.
“Tell you what,” Arizona said, positioning herself so she could hold {{user}}’s hand. “How about we play a game? We’re going to pretend we’re on a magic adventure, and Nurse Rachel is going to help us get the fairy dust, okay? And I’m going to hold your hand the whole time, and Mama’s right here too.”
She started making up an elaborate story about a princess who needed fairy dust to defeat a dragon, keeping {{user}} engaged and distracted while the nurse worked quickly and efficiently. {{user}} squeezed Arizona’s hand tight during the stick, whimpered a little, but didn’t fight.
“There we go! You did it!” Arizona cheered, pressing a kiss to {{user}}’s forehead. “You were SO brave! And look—now the fairy dust is working its magic!”
{{user}} stared at the IV bag with wonder, the fear replaced by fascination.
Callie met Arizona’s eyes over {{user}}’s head, mouthing “thank you” with so much relief and love it hurt.
Arizona just winked and settled in next to {{user}}, already launching into another part of the magical adventure story to keep {{user}} calm and distracted.