In 2022, an estimated 287,500 new cases of invasive breast cancer will be diagnosed in women in the U.S. as well as 51,400 new cases of non-invasive (in situ) breast cancer.
“Will you rub my back like this?” My 4-year-old granddaughter reached behind her back and demonstrated, slowly and gently brushing her fingers up and down against her bare skin. Myah was negotiating for some tactile time prior to her nap. She was lying on her side in my bed, and I was behind her, giving her a snuggle, her guidance toward rest. Rubbing her back is an important part of our naptime ritual and Myah avails herself of the practice on every occasion.
My granddaughter and I had spent some time in the place she calls “Berger Park,” a short walk (and wagon drag) from my home. It was before noon, and I believed that there was little likelihood that there would be other children on the playground near the Ellenberger Park pool. But there were, and when Myah saw them, she cried out “Friends! I have friends!” She dismounted the red wagon I use to drag her around and galloped toward the playtime architecture of the park. Two adults, each with a small child, were already on the playgrounds and Myah headed straight toward one of the children. There was an animated conversation and she turned toward me and cried out: “I have a friend!”
When Myah goes to the parks and recreational areas around us, her first inclination is to acquire friends; when there are no other children at the park, I’m the required substitute. If kids are there, she wants to insert herself into whatever games might be afoot. If the rush of kids flows around and away from her, she sits and pouts. We discuss that, and I try to help her understand that she cannot expect to participate in everything she sees. When I mentioned these habits of Myah’s to her aunt, Lisa noted that the behavior was familiar to her. My first granddaughter, who is ten years older than my second, had the same inclinations at about the same age: every kid she met was a friend, and if that was not possible, Imani pouted.
On this recent outing with Myah, I was able to extract her from the friends with a surprising minimum of angst. I told her to say “bye” to her friends and she did so by hugging each one of them. She surprised the mothers with a hug, too, for she is a hugger. (She is also well-versed in the art of the “air hug,” a Covid-19 substitute for the real thing.) As I trundled her back to the house, she rode in the wagon, recounting the tales of the park. At home again, we lunched, hydrated, and prepared for the afternoon nap, which is when Myah asks for me to either rub her back, or she will say, “Clop, will you scratch my back like this?”
When my first child was conceived her mother and I took classes in Lamaze Prepared Childbirth in preparation for a “natural” birth. One of the techniques utilized to assist the mother was a slow massage of the abdomen with the fingers called effleurage. I think of that technique when my grandchildren ask me to rub their backs, as my grandson was wont to do, or to “scratch my back like this,” as Myah requests.
Despite my aversion to touching and hugging, I gladly provide this tactile experience for Myah, who always needs a “huggy” and a snuggle and my gentle touch to help her sleep.
cjon3acd@att.net