I Could Have Been A Surgeon

I woke up this morning and felt my gold hoop earring under my fingers, near my pillow. I fingered my ear and sure enough, no earring. Then, I probed my other earlobe. No earring. Apparently, I had some kind of dream in the night in which I had to remove both earrings. I have no memory of this dream or action. Weird, huh?

Babygirl woke up with a runny nose today. Alas, we had to go to church anyway because I was in charge of leading the music. Despite her snottiness, she was fairly cheerful, unless, of course, someone said, “Hi Baby!” to her, in which case she buried her mucus-y nose in my shoulder.

During church, I visited with the nursery volunteer, a beautiful woman named Sarah. She is a military wife and mother of two preschool boys. Her husband just returned from two months in Afghanistan. “Did your husband know Pat Tillman?” I asked. Turns out that Pat Tillman was in her husband’s platoon and that, in fact, her husband had to examine Pat’s body. He told her how difficult it was to transition from holding the brains of a dead comrade to changing the diapers of his babies.

We talked about the reports that Tillman’s death resulted from “friendly fire.” Her husband does not believe that is true. Tillman had a head wound, a bullet shot in the forehead. Sarah’s husband said that the U.S. troops have 50 caliber bullets, which do incredible damage. For instance if you were shot in the leg with a 50 caliber bullet, your leg would be gone. If Tillman had been hit with a 50 caliber bullet in the head, his head would have been shot off.

Isn’t this pleasant? Well, at any rate, the “enemy” in Afghanistan doesn’t have the high-caliber bullets, so Sarah’s husband believes it was an enemy bullet that killed Tillman. This is contrary to the news reports, but I tend to believe an actual Ranger than the news media or even the Pentagon.

Well, enough of that.

Later in the afternoon, I took the kids to the pool. The sun actually shone and the rain stopped and despite a stiff breeze, the kids said, “It’s hot! Let’s go to the pool!” Babygirl was happy to go anywhere in the car. Lately, she wants to go places and do things.

YoungestBoy passed his swim test the second time he took it today. The first test today, he swam underwater nearly the whole way. Not good enough. He needed to do the crawlstroke, so he swam back to the rope (underwater) and then did a flailing crawlstroke back to the other end of the pool. The lifeguard looked dubious, but then said, “He wants to go off the diving board, doesn’t he?” I said, “Yes!” and he said, “Well, okay, but if he gets tired, tell him he has to get out.”

YoungestBoy said, “But mom, I never get tired!” Then he proceeded to jump off the diving board about twenty times in a row.

At 5:00 p.m., my husband arrived with hot dogs for the grill and the necessary accompaniments. (Chips, ketchup and mustard!) I took Babygirl home and left the boys under his care. They swam for another hour.

At home, Babygirl and I went in the back yard and she wandered around while I pulled a few weeds and trimmed some ivy.

When the kids came home, my husband mentioned that YoungestBoy’s swimming trunks were stuck to his . . . private parts. Oh no! This happened once last year and it was a pain, literally, to get it unstuck. Same swimming trunks, too. Last year, I figured it was a fluke. Apparently, I was sadly mistaken.

I went up to the bathroom to find my boy sitting in the warm tub water, swimming trunks still on. Upon closer examination, I discover that the delicate skin has somehow poked through the tiny mesh holes and is stuck in two places. Can everyone say a big “ouch”?

My first thought was lubricant. Unfortunately, I don’t even have baby oil in the house. I thought maybe hair serum would work–it’s greasy and slippery stuff designed to combat friz.

My baby and my husband are looking over my shoulder. My husband says, “Are you sure? The area is . . . well, sensitive, you know.” I decide to pour baby shampoo on it instead, though in hindsight, I’m not sure how I thought that would help. Poor kid is yelping whenever I tug on the mesh. I decide to cut off the swimming trunks, leaving just a square of mesh around the “area.”

First, hair shears. No. Not sharp enough. Then kitchen shears. Again, no. Not sharp enough. Finally, I resort to my sewing scissors. This works and I leave a small square of mesh fabric hanging off the end of his tiny little member.

Then, I think, Wait! Heat expands, cold contracts! Let’s put it in a bowl of ice water and see if the tissue shrinks. At this point, tissue is stuck in one single hole, but it pokes through like a little water balloon which has been stuck through a chainlink fence and then filled with water. Can we all pause and say, “ouch” again? Thank you.

So, I fill a small Rubbermaid measuring cup with cold water and an ice cube. I hold this chilly cup to his little willy and he flinches. If he could stand the frigidity, this might work. Alas, too cold and the little bubble of flesh remains stuck.

I pick up my sharp shears. I clip, I snip, I work slowly, painstakingly, one miniscule thread at a time. I realize I cannot cut the final edges or I’ll prick his, well, his skin. But I get very, very close. He wiggles the fabric and it completely frays, leaving him free of the strangling mesh.

We high-five and he hugs me and thanks me for saving his life. I say, “Well, even if it were cut, you wouldn’t die.” “I wouldn’t?” he says. This leads into an deep discussion of amputation and when it would and when it would not lead directly to death. He also makes me promise to always let him wear underpants under his swimming trunks. I promise and think to myself that I will write a scathing letter to Ocean Pacific and demand to know why they use mesh which can entrap a little boy’s, uh, little boy. If you know what I mean.