When things go great, I like to give credit where credit is due.
Today, my first credit goes to the staff at the newly revamped Midland Memorial Hospital emergency room. The second person to receive props is the Hubs, who tried valiantly to aid our daughter but then whisked her away to said facility. Third, to THIS MOM, who dressed Baby Girl in cute jammies so the Hubs could photo op her there.
And in instances when things go wheels off, I like to tar and feather the person I deem responsible for causing me major upset. However in this instance, I will not. Since it was kinda my fault.
Memory, All Alone in the Moonlight
It was closing in on bedtime. Lights were low in the living room. Soothing classical music trickled ever-so-gently from Bose speakers cleverly disguised as river rocks. As I hummed along, in tune, naturally, I gazed fondly at my second born. I had just taken the homemade bread from the oven and was getting ready to make her nutritionally balanced Bento lunch, when she turned to say sweetly, “Mommy, my nose hurts.”
“What?” I asked, wiping my hands gently on my Bessie Bride to Be Apron. “What’s wrong with my angel’s little nose?”
“I inserted a white craft bead up there just to see what it would feel like, and now I need to go to the emergency room to have it removed,” she explained.
“Aha!” exclaimed her father, donning his super hero cape. “I will fly her to the doctor immediately. We shall be home in time for warm milk and a bedtime story!”
But my husband’s memory of the event is a little different.
His is more like this: “I heard you shrieking in the living room! OH MY GOD! I see a bone sticking out of her nose! DO something!”
I was frantically folding clothes while Bodacious sat glued to “What’s New, Scooby Do?” I was trying to make a mental list of all the things that had to be done that night. Pack school bags, make lunches, gather nap mats, pillows and blankets, make milk, give medicine, pick up house, finish the unending laundry.
Baby Girl turned to me. “My nose hurts.” Yea, I’m sure it does kid, keep your fingers and razor sharp nails outta there. “Come here, do you need to blow your nose?”
A few moments go by. Then she’s starting to whimper. I pull her up on my lap, check for blood. I don’t see anything. Now, she is escalating into full-on tears. I take her to the kitchen where there is more light and sit her on the counter. And then I see it. Her nose has started to swell inside, pink and angry, but I can make out what looks like cartilage or shiny bone peeking out at me.
So now I am panicking, covering her ears and screaming for my nurse husband.
He takes her to the bathroom and begins to inspect.
“Uh, Melanie. It’s not bone. It’s something white and round crammed up in there.” And all the while, Baby Girl is maintaining her innocence. She has not put anything in there, “I promise.”
And then I knew. I knew exactly what it was. Earlier that morning I had seen the white craft bead that had slipped off an art project. I remember telling myself, “I don’t want her swallowing that!” So I picked it up, put it in my pocket and meant to throw it in the trash. But I guess it slipped back out somehow and Bodacious decided to smell it rather than swallow it.
The Hubs tried extracting the bead with flat tweezers. Then we tried to have her blow it out. But that little sucker wasn’t going anywhere.
My imagination began to run wild. Could my neighbor come over to stay with Little Son while we took her to the ER? Did I need to pack a bag for the emergency surgery that was sure to come? Dear Sweet Lord, let Dr. Vik Patel be on call. Where on earth was George Clooney when I needed him most?
The Hubs, who is well aware of his Drama Mamma, was like, “umm, take it down a notch. Only one of us needs to take her.”
By now I am crying. My baby, me sweet, sweet baby. “You should go then, in case any important medical decisions need to be made,” I sob.
The Hubs, on the other hand, would just like me to give him a sandwich to go since this has all occurred during his dinner time and he hasn’t gotten to eat. I throw two pieces of white bread into a plastic bowl and shove her diaper bag and a bottle of warm milk at him instead.
Twenty minutes later, I get my first update from the hospital. A picture of a now smiling baby girl.
The Hubs, who used to work for MMH, described the entire trip to the newly redesigned ER as “great!”
He waked through the doors, the staff saw my toddler in distress, and they took her straight into a room where a nurse practitioner promptly fished the bead from her nose. Home by story time, 40 minute trip tops.
So let’s run down what we have learned: If your child pokes something up her nose and you can see it, grab it with a pair of flat tweezers (not the sharp, pointy ones!). If that doesn’t work, try to have her blow it out. If that doesn’t work, go to the ER or call you doctor. Do not try to get it out by spraying saline or water into your child’s nose. Do not use a cotton swab or your fingers, either. You run the risk of pushing it deeper into your child’s nose or even down her throat and into her lung.
And if you see a small object on the floor, take it directly to the trash.
What has your precious angel experimented with? How did you get him to stop?