February 23, 2005
When I was a kid, I ran everywhere barefoot. I climbed trees, ran down the gravel road, you name it. When I was about nine, I jumped out of the cherry tree outside our backyard and landed on a branch. I shoved a five inch wide and four inch long stick into my foot. Ok, it was about 1/8" wide and about 1/4" long... literally. I hurt like you wouldn't believe. I'd had a history of thorns and slivers and my dad always pulled them out with the utmost diligence. This time, he couldn't do it. I had to go to the doctor. After a shot in the foot with some useless painkiller, he sliced my foot open with your generic razor blade. I could feel it go through the flesh of my foot. It was terrible.
It was nothing compared to what I just experienced.
When Annie has had splinters in the past, I've always managed to get them out with a minimal amount of emotional scarring. Tonight? I'm not so sure. We were giving each other a high five, and she said "ow". Maybe it was more like "OWWWWW!" This began the one hour adventure that was the removal of a splinter. I went and got the small sewing kit with a needle that would remove the offending splinter (isn't that what my dad did?). She freaked. No. The splinter would wait until morning. No, sweetie, it must come out now. Wait! Wait! I have to tell you something. (This phrase was issued seventeen times during the trial.)
I tried to show her how to press the splinter out of her hand. I had become very good at this following the razor incident. No dice. She couldn't get it to budge. I was forced to use Daddy power to tell her that I had to get it out. In a midst of tears and "I have to tell you something" she asked (for the fourth time) that I try to just press it out. Praise God, I did. The redwood sized splinter came out, and our tears were over in a manner of minutes (mine and hers). She decided to call her mommy and tell her about it. After which, she fell asleep in record time. Emotional trauma always calls for sleep.
God, please watch over my angel, and let her not get any more splinters...
Not that kind of doctor
It was nothing compared to what I just experienced.
When Annie has had splinters in the past, I've always managed to get them out with a minimal amount of emotional scarring. Tonight? I'm not so sure. We were giving each other a high five, and she said "ow". Maybe it was more like "OWWWWW!" This began the one hour adventure that was the removal of a splinter. I went and got the small sewing kit with a needle that would remove the offending splinter (isn't that what my dad did?). She freaked. No. The splinter would wait until morning. No, sweetie, it must come out now. Wait! Wait! I have to tell you something. (This phrase was issued seventeen times during the trial.)
I tried to show her how to press the splinter out of her hand. I had become very good at this following the razor incident. No dice. She couldn't get it to budge. I was forced to use Daddy power to tell her that I had to get it out. In a midst of tears and "I have to tell you something" she asked (for the fourth time) that I try to just press it out. Praise God, I did. The redwood sized splinter came out, and our tears were over in a manner of minutes (mine and hers). She decided to call her mommy and tell her about it. After which, she fell asleep in record time. Emotional trauma always calls for sleep.
God, please watch over my angel, and let her not get any more splinters...
Not that kind of doctor