A couple days before we went on our trip to the Berkshires in June, Lydia somehow got a thorn or something similar through her bathing suit into her posterior. She didn’t tell the people she was with at the time, but only complained later. Carol and I couldn’t get it out, so Carol called our pediatrician.
Carol claims, and I believe her, that she heard tones of snickering and even mild mocking in the response by the receptionist when she made the appointment on the Friday before the trip. You mean these pathetic parental units couldn’t get a little sliver out of their child? I think we took some mild emotional satisfaction, mixed with medical concern, when Lydia’s doctor couldn’t get it out, either. He recommended heat and other salves to try to draw out the foreign object. If it’s not out by the end of the weekend, he recommend that Lydia see a surgeon. A surgeon for a sliver!
Well, we left for the Berkshires on Sunday, but first thing Monday morning, Carol called the surgeon’s office, and made an appointment for the next morning. We drove back to Albany on what may have been the hottest day of the year; I remember distinctly leaving a fitted sheet over Lydia’s car seat, so that the seat and the metal wouldn’t be too hot when we return.
Carol, the nurse and Lydia were in the room when I heard Lydia screaming. I assumed this was the shot to numb the area. No, it was the numbing cream used in anticipation of the shot. The actual shot went relatively easily.
The surgeon was called away on an emergency for a time. Finally, when the actual removal took place, it involved the surgeon removing the object, and the nurse and two parents holding the child.
We had lunch and soft ice cream after that, then returned to our vacation locale.
(This will be one of those posts where, years from now, she will undoubtedly chastise me.)
These are her favorite colors.
ROG