I must tell the story of Stella’s sliver, even if it’s just told for my own benefit, because I just know that years will pass and we will forget the drama of the “sliver in the heel”.
I must admit that I don’t even remember if it was morning or evening (see how fast the details fade…), but it was either very early in the day or at dusk… and there was my little girl walking down the stairs, barefoot, crying that her heel hurts. Sure enough, we diagnosed it as a sliver immediately, and so began the procedure of trying to get that sliver out. It was really just a little dark dot in her foot and seemed entirely benign, however she complained and complained loud! “It hurts.” & “I cannot step on it.” & “I don’t want to wear a shoe on the hurt foot.” Knowing my kids, I must admit that it was a little odd for Stella to complain so much. Usually she is the one who never cries. Kaspar is the “drama queen” of the family.
We must have spent a good hour or so trying to get it out, while she was being bribed with her favourite TV shows, chocolates, candy, ice cream and other goodies usually not readily available to my kids at the drop of a hat. But how do you convince a three year old to hold her foot still while someone pokes at her skin with sharp tweezers and a needle? It’s not easy. Believe me. After I got shooed away it was daddy’s turn. He tried and tried and did not get far either, despite his extreme patience for these things and quite calm demeanor. We managed to get a tiny little black bit out but that’s all that we got!
And then this memory came to me. A memory of someone in my own childhood saying that some slivers work their way out from under the skin themselves. However, I also know that some stay under the skin forever, like little reminders of the little accidents we’ve had as kids. I chose to believe the first. Or simply there was no other choice but to hope for the best. After all, I was not going to show up at emergency in the early morning hours with a SLIVER in my kid’s foot! It’s hardly an emergency, right? So, Stella and Kaspar were dressed and sent off to daycare (with a fair warning to the daycare staff about the very painful sliver!!!) and I went to work, hoping and praying that it will just magically disappear over the course of the day.
When we picked up the kids after daycare that day, the daycare manager Debbie was very concerned about the use of tweezers and needles and sharp objects by her staff. It turned out that several of the daycare staff (a lot of them very dear to us and mothers themselves) had tried to get the little bugger out but managed only to get a couple of little bits and Debbie was worried and sheepish about the whole procedure (I have a feeling she does not have kids herself ☺ ). I saw the relief in her face when she realized that I was not upset but thanked them all dearly for trying. We came home and started the whole ordeal all over again. The hunt for the missing sliver! The candy and bribes, the TV shows and holding her tight and trying the bribery and trying to convince her to stay still… but… you guessed it. NO LUCK. That little bugger of a sliver was stubborn and was not going anywhere.
The following morning when I woke up, I tried the magic of forgetting. I tried to pick up Stella, stand her on her two feet and pretend the sliver had never been an issue. After all, a little dark dot under the skin should have healed over by now. As soon as she stepped on the foot, I knew there was a problem. I looked at the foot and it had gotten even more red and infected and swollen around the little black dot. Both of us, the parents, had an extremely full day of work planned. Not only we were supposed to accomplish the usual chores and day-job or work, but both of us had meetings to attend and things to deliver and stuff to fetch and from that moment on I knew it was not going to be a pretty day. Our grand fight started with me wanting Stella at the hospital and thinking that Steve can take her, but Steve thinking that a sliver is no hospital matter and the last thing he wanted to do was spend 5 h at the local emergency. But at this point, I had a gut feeling that it was not going away. So there were the two fronts – one for the hospital, one against the hospital… both stressing about the work that needed to be done, both worried about our child and yet unable to come to some sort of a compromise. It was a miserable morning! Yet, at this point we did not know how miserable it will become later on…
I won the fight, if you could call it winning. We did take Stella to the hospital, but I had to take the time out of my busy day to do so. And that is just what parenting is all about, is it not?
We went to the local hospital and had a short 45 to 60 minute wait at the kids’ clinic. The doctor was nice enough, Stella was calm enough and I was hoping and praying that perhaps this ordeal could really be over in a matter of minutes. When the first nurse came in to hold down Stella (while she was in my lap, of course) I was still trying to keep a positive attitude. When the second nurse was called in and the doctor whipped out little sharp clippers, my heart sank. Even though the doctor kept saying: “this really is not that painful”, Stella kept screaming on top of her lungs and kicking and wiggling as hard as she could. And I was beginning to feel sick with pain in my own body. It was not about the threshold of pain, but rather about the fright of someone poking, clipping and tearing your skin while no anesthetic (not even local) was applied to the heel. I understood Stella. And after some time, I was the one who gave up. The doctor insisted that there was still a little bit left in there, but she had gotten out most of it. It had broken into little pieces, but had come out “strange dark wood, very brittle” she said and asked if we had black stained wood in the house. No! I was not ready to sign on for more screaming and poking, so, we left the hospital with Stella crying in my arms, resting her head on one shoulder, a huge bag for work stuff on the opposite shoulder and a wile of some liquid in one hand and a 3lb bag of Epsom salts in another. Heading back home to soak the foot, as prescribed by the doctor. The trek home on the TTC in 30+ degree heat & sun, carrying the load of Stella and the other stuff was no laughing matter. At one point I thought I was going to collapse in tears on the side of the road. But we made it. We made it home. But as soon as I had turned on some Dora (not AT ALL my favourite!) and soaked the poor little foot for a while, talked about the hospital for a while, ate some chocolates, ate some pop corn and generally speaking tried to calm down both I and her… something totally unexpected and tragic news cam through on my email. Our dear friend and neighbour, who had been battling cancer for nearly 8 months, had just passed away. We were just planning to visit him at the hospital that very next day. I cried. At this point I cried about it all… like a waterfall that will not stop… When Steve called to tell me that he is at the hospital looking for us and now also able to help out with whatever needs to be done, I just cried.
But somehow, through the tears, and through having to explain to my three year old daughter the mystery of life and death and the tears I was shedding… I managed to look at her foot and realize that indeed there was a little bit more of the dark sliver poking out from under the torn skin. I grabbed my little pointy jewelers tweezers, hunkered down almost on top of her, warned her that this was only going to be for one minute and GRABBED, almost blindly, at the dark little spot, while she was frozen stiff, screaming under the weight of my own body. She was scared, of course.
Nothing could have prepared me for what I pulled out.
Straight out of my kids foot, I pulled out a 14 mm (yes, I did measure it) long piece of mechanical pencil led that was not broken, intact, fine little perfect column of pencil lead. It had somehow penetrated her heel and stuck straight into her foot, deep in the flesh. I was so shocked that I just sat there staring at my hand for a long while. While Stella checked out her foot, slowly stood on it, walked over to the bathroom, got her own band aid and came back handing me a band aid and saying “Thank you, mommy, I think I’m perfect now. Can you put this on?”
Half hour later Stella was on her way to the daycare. But my day, or the rest of it is hard to describe… the mixed emotions of great sadness and sorrow, anger, blessing and joy… … but that is a whole other story.
We spent long week-end in Ottawa, taking in the sights, sitting outdoors on sunny patios, going to a friend's wedding, and thanks to a great "hotwire" deal, swimming in the hotel pool for hours and hours at a time. Kaspar outlasted us all, having spent 3 hours (nearly two with me and the last hour and a half with Steve) in the pool at one time! He's getting to be a decent swimmer, I must admit.
On the way home we went pumpkin hunting. It turned out that all the pumpkin farms, the places that actually advertised "pumpkin picking" for the kids, were actually more like little Halloween entertainment one-stop-shops with petting zoo's and haunted houses and scary stories, face painting and bands, rides and hay rides and you name it.... they had it all. Best of all they all seemed to have 18$ - 20$ per person entrance fee!?! All we wanted was a couple of pumpkins. Or should I say - All I WANTED was a couple of pumpkins? The strange part is that most of them did not even sell pumpkins!!! The good thing was that at 4 pm pretty much all of them were closing for the day or about to close for the day any minute and that was enough to talk the kids out of going in. Of course, my line was pretty much the: "There is no way I am paying 80$ for the family to enjoy this entertainment for ONE hour or LESS!" I know, I know.... absolutely nasty of me.
