Wednesday, February 6, 2013


You'll have to excuse me as I run to the bathroom regularly while writing this.  The four year old got a tick.  I may never recover.  I have the most disgusting image lodged in my brain and it refuses to budge.
Oh the kid you say - how is she?   She's fine.  This is about ME.  She can write her own blog when she's 24 and mad at me.

I am wracked with guilt and revulsion.  In my defense (you knew I was going to present one) the husband didn't notice either.  Neither of us noticed a bug with legs dangling half in, half out my precious babies' flawless skin.

Back from the bathroom now.

It was in her armpit which is not an area I regularly inspect.  Scratch that - was not an area I used to regularly inspect.  Here is the epic fail part with the guilt attached.  She showed it to me - at 7am (after it had been in there for about 16 hours)  Excuse me.....

It was still not fully light out and we were in the usual morning melee that is getting ready for school.
She told me her arm hurt and showed it to me.  She had been playing with a medicine ball the day before. (I can hear CPS scheduling a home visit from here.) I assumed that was the reason behind her sore arm.  Let's face it - your arms ache after you pump weights right?  I did look though and there in her armpit was a bloody looking scab.  I prodded at it...  back in a sec....

That's better.

I thought it was a scab.  I meant to put some ointment on it but we got caught up in breakfast, teeth, hair, shoes - I forgot.  My sweet girl went to school for five hours with that thing dangling and sucking away.   Back in a mo...

At pick up she told me her arm REALLY hurt. So I looked, then barfed, then called the husband who reminded me about breathing into brown paper bags, then barfed, then called the Doctor.

I am not really squeamish.  I have stories from years of doing wound care with patients that are so colorful in their nastiness and yet my stomach remained calm.  This.  This.  Not manageable.
The Doctor removed it. My brave girl declared it "not even sore."  I swallowed.

It's gone.  Only it's not,  because I cannot do enough laundry, body inspections or looking at lovely images of bunnies and flowers to clear this.


I'm hoping a problem shared is a problem solved.  Sorry if I gave you nightmares but if you do happen to get one call me - I'll be up.  We can chat.

1 comment:

  1. We've had them. They are horrible. I'm so sorry. (Handing you a large glass of wine.)


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