That is, until I woke up one morning to his blood curdling cries. I couldn’t figure out what was wrong with him as he squirmed and hollered and wailed in pain. He kept shoving his finger up his nostril and screaming in agony. His sobs made him sniffle, and with each sniffle his screams hit a higher note. His squeals hit octaves that could only have be rivaled by Mariah Carey’s highest notes, and I couldn’t help but roll my eyes as I repeatedly asked him what was the matter.*
After questioning his panicked sister, the source of his agony was revealed, he had shoved a plastic bead up his nose. “He was trying to smell it” she said.
Chaos ensued as my hubby and I hurried into our clothes and loaded our hysterical children into the car. We sped to Emergency – hubby behind the wheel, and me pinning my boy’s arms to his sides as he repeatedly tried to stick his finger up his nose in an attempt to remove the bead himself.
When we arrived at the hospital, we were rushed into a room where the doctor made an odd suggestion. He said, “Before I go in for removal, I’d like you to try something. This may sound strange, but I’d like you to wait for me to leave the room, and then tell your son to lie down so you can give him a kiss. As you move in, quickly plug his unplugged nostril with your finger, and wrap your lips around his as if you were to give him CPR. I want you to give a quick blow (like when you make a wish and blow an eyelash from the tip of your finger). This should bring the bead down into view, and may even blow it out.”
As the doctor left the room, I did what he had instructed, and voila, the bead was visible, but still very deep up his nose.
When the doctor returned, he took a peak, and then asked my hubs to swaddle my boy with a sheet to secure his arms. He then held his head while the doctor poked and prodded with a scalpel until POP! Out it came.
That blasted bead bounced onto the floor, and my boy giggled with glee.
|This is the last time he will ever be allowed to touch anything smaller than his palm.|
Relieved that it was a quick and painless process, my husband and I shuffled out of the hospital, two skipping monkeys in tow.