This morning we took Elizabeth to see the pediatric nephrologist at Children's Hospital. We met with the doctor, who seemed nice, and discussed Elizabeth's recent medical history.

After the exam, the doctor talked with us about what he thinks is going on. Elizabeth's urine labs had come back abnormal, not abnormal enough to rule out orthostatic proteinuria, but not normal enough to say that's what's going on. He started talking about how he wants her to submit two more first morning urine samples to see if her levels change at all. (Earlier while waiting for the doctor, we told Elizabeth that *everybody* loves her pee, its just THAT special that they can't get enough of it. She giggled.) He continued to talk about what we'll do if her levels are the same. He began talking about needle biopsy procedures and Elizabeth started to look down at her lap. The more he talked, the darker the look on her face became. When I asked Elizabeth if she was ok, she looked up, with tears running down her cheek. I told her to come sit on my lap, and she cried quietly while Chad and I listened to the doctor. The doctor gave me a look that said, I'm sorry; he must use that look a lot.

I hate this. I hate that she is scared. I hate that she needs to know how to do a clean catch urine sample. I hate that I feel so helpless and powerless. I hate that I can't fix this and make everything better. I need a magic band-aid dammit.

Chad and I both tried to explain things in the most non-scary, easily understandable way possible. She's still scared. I don't blame her. I'm scared too.

Before we left the hospital, we were sent down to get an ultrasound of her kidneys. They have TVs in the rooms so that the kids can watch videos during their procedures. She watched Shrek while they scanned her kidneys and bladder. Chad and I said many of the lines along with the movie, making Elizabeth laugh.

More waiting and worrying now. I know there's little I can do to change what her body is doing. But I worry, I'm a mother, its in my nature.