Lucky Bead. . .Parte Una

Glorious is how today started out. Everyone was up by 7:10, dressed by 7:20, and in the kitchen eating breakfast by 7:25. I made lunches and packed back packs, while Steve helped the kids brush teeth and hair. By 8:40 we had them both off to Spanish camp. Such organization! Such cooperation! Such excitement! Such quiet in the house! It was a beautiful thing.

Steve started working in the office and I headed out to run errands all morning. Alone is the only way I can accomplish that in plural. I had saved so many appointments and necessities for this particular Monday because I knew it would be one of the few remaining days of summer to accomplish back-to-school tasks. I zipped in and out of stores, found bargains galore, and felt satisfied with my progress for the morning. At 12:05 my cell phone rang.

Steve explained that the camp had called because Ian stuck a bead in his ear. He wasn't complaining of any pain. It was their policy, however, not to remove objects stuck inside children's orifices. Good policy, I thought. Then I turned the car north and headed for the camp.

"Oy! Dios mio!" (pretend there are accents in the right places) I thought out loud. A bead. In his ear. What on earth possessed him?

When I arrived, one of the counselors greeted me at the door. She seemed very embarrassed about the whole thing. I suppose she was afraid of what I might think about the camp and their safety practices if this could happen in the first 3 hours of the first day. Honestly, I was calm because this really wasn't that big of a deal, and it wasn't surprising that one of my kids would do such a thing.

She very kindly explained that the kids were stringing beads and were told that these particular ones are good luck in Peru. She handed me one of the beads so I would have something to show the doctor. Then she asked Ian to tell me why he stuck it in his ear.

"Well, I decided I wanted to have good luck all the time, not just for one day. So I put it in my ear to keep it forever." Sounds like a perfectly rational explanation to me, coming from my son.

"Ian, I think if that bead were going to bring you good luck, it could do it just as well in your pocket as in your ear," I suggested.

"Yeah, you're probably right, Mom," Ian agreed.

The counselor suggested that the pediatrician could probably get it out without any difficulty. I agreed, but said I thought he might learn the lesson more effectively if he had to spend some time in the ER. If I could just find my Swiss Army knife - it has that great set of tiny tweezers that are perfect for a job like this. Unfortunately, it went AWOL a couple of weeks ago, so that option was out.

As we prepared to leave, she remarked how calm I seemed about this. "No broken limbs, we're good," I said with a smile. "We've been through much worse. By comparison, this is a mosquito bite."

On the way home I realized that the ER would probably cost a small fortune and would take the rest of the day. That is more expense and frustration than I was willing to endure to teach Ian a lesson. So we headed to the pediatrician.

Ian immediately made friends with an older girl named Molly. He tried to play a simple game with her, but she wasn't too sure it was o.k. Her grandmother went over to them, and prompted her to introduce herself. Then Ian told her his name. The grandmother explained that Molly was autistic. I smiled and said, "So is Ian. That's probably why they have gravitated to one another." The next thing I knew, the grandmother and I were chatting about care giving and the need for respite. She obviously had her plate full with Molly. I said I would help her locate a place where she could take Molly for a few hours a week, just so she could get a break. I almost offered to do it myself, but she would probably think that was kind of strange. As the nurse was calling us back, I handed her my phone number and told her to call me in a couple of days. Surely, by then I could find something for her.

First the nurse examined him. I could tell by the look on her face it wasn't going to be fun. Then the PA came in. She is a kind, gentle person, and Ian likes her a lot. After a little looksie, she tried to remove the bead with a tiny plastic hook. Ian was a champ, but the bead didn't budge.

Next she soaked the bead in drops containing glycerin, hoping to float the bead out. Nope, nada.

Then, she dug at it with a metal instrument that resulted in only one thing . . . piercing screams from my child.

Finally, the pediatrician came in to give it a try with very long tweezers. It took the PA and me to hold him down, and that was with me lying beside him on the table, wrapped around him so he couldn't move. Walls shook. Windows rattled. Files fell from shelves. Patients in the waiting room looked at each other and ran out the door. The bead just bobbed in his ear and mocked us.

I loosened my arms just long enough to let Ian breathe. He jumped off the table and crawled under it where he couldn't be reached. There was no way he was going to let any of us touch him again. Dr. B and the PA left the room so I could coax him back out. When he realized it was only the two of us, he emerged and sat crying in my lap. This was getting tougher than I had anticipated. I knew I could get through it, but I wasn't so sure about Ian. He relaxed enough to stop screaming and told me his ear was really hurting.

"I know, baby. Let's just take a minute and catch our breath," I said. Instinctively, Ian took a long, cleansing breath and concentrated on slowing his motor. He rested his head on my shoulder while I rocked him. "Honey, we have to try one more time."

"NO!!!! Please, no!" he begged through tears.

"Just one more try, and then we'll quit. When we leave here, I'll take you to get ice cream. OK?" I felt terrible about using food as a bargaining chip, but it was all I could think of that was close to the doctor's office and on the way home. He never really agreed, but the 3 of us got him back up on the table and gave it one more shot. This time, Dr. B used a tiny looped instrument that looked like it could work. Ninguna tal suerte. (No such luck.)

The PA whispered to me as she left the room, "You are amazing! How do you stay so calm and so strong for him?" I shrugged because I can't imagine it any other way.

After cleaning Ian's ear, Dr. B handed me a card with the name of an Ear, Nose, and Throat specialist on it. "You have an appointment with him at the hospital tomorrow at 11:30. I've already talked to him, so he knows what to expect."

I smiled and gave her a look that said, "Does he really know what is going to walk through his door tomorrow?" She smiled back, knowing exactly what I was thinking.

At home, Ian exited the car and went inside. As I gathered my belongings, I noticed something red between my armrest and the floor. I reached down and stretched my fingers, grasping it between two of them. My Swiss Army knife. "Two hours ago we had a chance. He'll never let me near his ear now. You big chicken!"