sliver

Dylan,

I've told you in the past that it's not OK for someone -- anyone -- to hurt you, me included.

I recognized an acute problem with that formulation when I sat down to remove a large sliver from your foot (it was just in front of your heel, and had probably been there for almost 24 hours) and started to say, more or less, "This is going to hurt. A lot."

You don't have a very impressive pain threshold to begin with, and I could see that this sliver was going to require some digging to have any hope at all of finding a handle. Of course I wasn't looking forward to inflicting significant pain on you, but the look of confusion on your face told me that you couldn't quite process why in the world I would ever do such a thing, making me wish all the more that it wasn't so.

I put something cold on your foot, then worked gingerly to remove the tiniest pieces of skin possible as I pursued the invader. After a short while I voiced -- to myself, really -- that I wished Mom was there because she'd really be much better than I at the task. Slightly, I think, misunderstanding my comment you looked at me and said "I want your Mom to do it."

Slightly grateful for the out, and comfortable that GiGi has an extensive resume, I passed on your request. She dug and dug. You screamed and writhed. I had to hold you down at times, working hard to keep you still. It was a stubborn thing, buried deep. After a while, I called for a break, wanting to pursue options for pain mitigation. I was open to a visit to the ER if needed.

First, we drove to the drugstore where the pharmacist recommended a hemorrhoid treatment as the best topical analgesic available, but the spot on the shelf was empty. At another drugstore (which didn't even carry the hemorrhoid stuff) they recommended something different that came in a spray bottle. I knew the analgesic effects of this were going to be very minimal, but I figured the spray would at least make an excellent placebo. I also bought the most expensive tweezers in the joint to substitute for the one back at the house, a blunt needle-nosed pair I recognized my from own childhood.

Grandma had done good work, and made critical progress, but when we got home I knew I wanted to finish this job myself.

It took some coaxing to get you back in the game -- or even to let me touch your foot again -- but after just a little more discomfort, the extraction was complete:




Dad