It’s all about the butt....
This whole splinter in my butt saga reminds me of a situation that happened a few years back when I worked as support in the trauma unit. I had been paged that there was a police officer shot and in the trauma unit. As I rounded the corner, I saw bundles of SWAT gear tossed near the door of the unit; you could almost smell the testosterone; officers in SWAT uniforms were milling about. As I entered the unit I gave an officer the “what’s up?” look to which he replied, “Officer took a bullet to the flank.” I nodded, he walked out and I walked in.
The surgeon was working on the officer, and I gave him the “what’s up?” look. He smiled and mouthed: “He was shot in the butt” while pointing to his butt. I nodded and walked out of the unit and the Charge nurse was at her desk giving me the look, so I mouthed “he was shot in the butt” – pointing to my butt. She nodded and turned to the triage nurse across the room at the public entrance and mouthed, “he was shot in the butt” pointing to her butt. And with that – we all knew the situation and got back to our regular duties. Without a word spoken. (Yes, I know, we still violated HIPPA but in a sense, we all needed to know since if it was more serious – we would shift into a different mode of operation.)
Why did I think about this story?
I called my doctor first thing to see if I should come in or go to a walk-in clinic to have the splinter in my butt removed and get a tetanus shot. They said to come in. As I walked up to the registration desk and gave my name, the lady said, “Ahh, I know….splinter in the…..”
“Butt,” I said. She just shook her head and said “ouch.”
The assistant came out to fetch me and as we walked back she said – “splinter in the…”
“Butt,” I said.
So everyone I dealt with that day already knew “splinter in the butt was arriving.”
As I sat on the exam table, she brought in a vial and needle and I said, “Oh, is that my tetanus shot?” And she said, “No, this is to numb the spot so we can get the splinter out.” OUCH – I thought.
Fast forward – the splinter just kept heading in deeper – we could feel it but the PA said she didn’t want to cut deeper in the doctor’s office. She bandaged me up and told me to keep an eye on it since there was a good chance of infection and to come in immediately if I saw it starting to get infected.
All well and good except I can’t see it – it’s on my butt – the sit down part of my butt. At home I tried standing on the tub to see if I could see it in the mirror of the medicine cabinet – I caught a glimpse before I almost tumbled head over heels into the tub and figured more serious injury could occur.
I tried jumping up and down to see if I could see it in my dressing room mirror – but again – I could only peek at it on the up part of the jump and the down part come too soon. Doesn’t look infected in the one second look.
Of course – you know I live with 7 dogs. First thing about that is that this makes a floor sliver even more deadly. The second thing is that privacy is in short supply. They all want to see what I’m doing – which is ½ the reason I got the darn splinter in the first place. The nurse said to “keep it clean”….well, duh!
So as I was getting ready for bed, I was in the bathroom and took off the dressing she put on. I lined up my large Band-Aid and the Neosporin, and was washing my hands with Thieves anti-bacterial soap so everything would be nice and sterile when, in dashed Fred, a little doxie, and he stretches up and licks the site of the splinter and I thought, “I’m gonna die!”
This is the end of the blog post. Most of you already know how I got the splinter from following on Facebook, but for those who do not, and are curious, carry on below:
It was a peaceful Sunday morning. I was luxuriating in my bed and wanted to check something on my new phone. (New, because my other phone melted – whole ‘nother story.) And I got the message that my phone wasn’t connected to wifi. I thought “Dang! Don’t tell me my new phone is a lemon!” So I trudged downstairs to use my computer instead and found out that it wasn’t connected to the internet.
All y’alls know what that means…..a trip under the desk to unplug and replug the router.
So I get down on the floor and sit in front of my desk. Note two things:
As I sit, six of the seven decide it’s hop on mom time; they start jumping on me, some getting toenails stuck in my sweater so they are yelping and pulling yarn threads out (of my new sweater I might add – also, toenails are getting clipped today).
There was such a cacophony of jubilation and excitement, that I decided to slide closer to get my front under the desk and free from pups to work on the various wires and components. They could fling themselves at my back while I worked.
Only….drum roll….this slide was the slide that picked up the splinter….and so it begins
….with pain in the end.
What I did know, is that I have been warned over and over again to be careful of using car the wash in the winter. Why? Because your doors could freeze shut and you would be unable to get into the car the next day. This has been drummed into my conscience by every Wisconsinite each winter.
And yet...during the winter, even Fern, my hippie Kia Soul, looks pretty darn ragged. Salt and grim cover her beautiful flower decals and boulders of ice and muck stick to her underside and rub against the tires. This can't be good.
So I thought. And pondered. And happened upon what I thought was a brilliant idea. So brilliant I wondered why I never heard of it. I discovered a way to avoid the ice between the door jams - so simple, really, just dry the inner doors as you leave the car wash.
All that hot air blowing on the car - like a giant hair dryer - can be put to use to dry the inner door jams. Right? right.
Feeling so smart and rather full of myself, I entered the local car wash after a particularly mucky bout of snow. I sat, smugly during the bubble and scrubble part. And then as I began my exit, ever so slowly I eased into the blow dryer part.
And when I got to the door area, ready to launch my brilliant idea - I opened my car door and LAUNCH indeed!! Yikes!
Did you know the hot air is a vacuum and NOT the least like a hair dryer?
Not only did the suction from the pump yank my door wide open but thankfully I had my seat belt on or I would have been torn from my vehicle and sucked up to the top of the vacuum.
As it was, my muscles from my right arm, across my chest and down to the tips of my left fingers were strained as I clung to the door to avoid losing that part of my car. Say good bye to my hat. At least I kept my glasses on.
Struggling, I closed the car door. Took a deep breath. And thought: "Well, that was something. Who knew?" I wonder if there is a sign at the beginning of the car wash that says: "Don't open your doors during the time you are in the wind tunnel"?
So if you didn't know....now you do.
No wonder I hadn't heard of this "great" idea before.
Feel free to thank me for this bit of wisdom.
Ann is a modern day Erma Bombeck - enjoying the foibles of her own life and that of living with 7 dogs and 2 hens.