Lead the Way 

was the standard 11-month-old well visit at the doctor’s office. My daughter was a healthy, happy baby, and I held her as the PA carefully siphoned off a tiny bit of blood from the tip of her finger for a lead test.

A few minutes later, he returned. “I just want to get a second look, ” he said apologetically, mostly to my daughter, who was already staring at him with a look of abject betrayal. “Can I just—?”

Another quick cut, another droplet of blood, and then he was conferring with a doctor, speaking in serious tones. The numbers weren’t good, obviously.

I was left clutching my baby and doing some math. My daughter was the consummate Covid baby, born at the peak of the pandemic and immediately after my husband began to work from home. She left the house occasionally, but spent almost all her time in our house. And our house was old, but not exceptionally so. Her older brother, who had also been 11 months old in this house, had passed this test with flying colors. There had been some pipe backup in the basement… could that have caused aberrant results? She sucked her thumb — maybe she’d been crawling, touched some pipe water, stuck the thumb in her mouth? (Disgusting!)