Posts Tagged ‘Injuries’

Successful Play-doh Extraction

So we’re at the doctor on Wednesday…

Doctor:  “Mark, um, the inside of your ear is blue.”  Looks some more.  “Did you put a bead in here?”

Mark (emphatically):  “No!”

Doctor:  “Does it hurt?”

Mark:  “No.”

Doctor:  “Do you have trouble hearing?”

Mark:  “Yes!”

(Inside my head):  THAT explains a lot.

Doctor:  “Well, it has to come out.  Schedule with the ENT.”

Scheduled with the ENT.  (I have to type it as ENT, not Ent–otherwise I has visions of Treebeard poking twiggy fingers into Mark’s ear).

Hastily rescheduled Friday morning after a sobbing Mark called from school that the 2 PM appointment overlapped the school Halloween costume parade.

ENT:  “Okay, Mark, let’s get that bead out.”

Mark:  “Will this take long?  The costume parade is at 2:30.”

ENT:  “Not if you hold still.”


ENT:  “Oooaaaakkky.  It’s crumbling, so not a bead.”

Mark (indignantly):  “I did NOT put a bead in my ear.”

ENT:  “I think it’s play-doh.”

Mark:  “Oh.  That.”

(Inside my head):  The paper wad up the nose.  Now this.  You’re out of easy-to-retrieve-from orifices, kid.

In the car:

Me:  “How DID you end up with play-doh in your ear?”

Mark:  “I sleepwalk.”

Watch Out, Chuck Norris

This weekend’s epiphany:

I am raising a bad-ass.

Not a bad boy.  An iron-clad, Beowulf-caliber bad-ass.

Here’s what happened:

Mark (utter nonchalant, shows up from the basement where he’s been playing the Wii):  “Look!”

Me:  “What?”

Mark points into his mouth.  “I lost a toof!”

Me:  “What happened?”  It’s a little early for him to be losing teeth in the usual way.

Mark:  “I hit my head on the TV cabinet.  I climbed up on the toilet and looked in the mirror.  My toof’s gone.”

Me:  “Does it hurt?”

Mark:  “No.  Can I go back to playing the Wii?”

This isn’t the first time this has happened, if you recall (“Dealing with Injury”).  Still.

I used to wonder about those Viking tough-guys, who sit down and stitch themselves up after a battle.  Where did they come from?  How do they get that way?

Apparently, they’re born that way.  So look out, Chuck Norris.  Your days are numbered.

A Tale of Our Cast-away

So Kate went with us this morning to get Mark’s cast off.

Was there she to offer her brother moral support?  To keep him company in the waiting room?  Maybe just to spend time with Mom?


She wanted to see how they did it.  She said as much when she asked last night about coming.  Having visions of a future daughter-doctor, I agreed.

Mark, who’d been through the removal before, you remember, having broken his first cast, tells his sister authoritatively, “It’s a vacuum.”

Kate (watching the Thing come closer to his arm):  “It’s a chain saw!”

This is spoken with in a mix of alarm (it IS moving towards her brother) and wonder (it IS moving towards her brother).

Mark (just a bit alarmed now, despite prior experience):  “It’s a VACUUM!”

The nurse:  “It does have a vacuum part.”

Kate:  “The OTHER part looks like a chain saw.”

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