The Day I Saved My Kid’s Life: A Mother’s Tale

 

So, for this Mother’s Day, I thought I would recount one of my shining moments as a mother:  The Day I Saved My Kid’s Life. 

Before I do, I should share a few words about some less dramatic but otherwise noteworthy moments in my motherhood career…

…like the time Reece announced loudly (during Sacrament meeting) that I had TWO BOOBS! and proceeded to count and honk each one.  If mortification is a word, I experienced it that day.  If mortification is not a word, it should be, because I experienced it that day.    

…or the time while dining at Juniper’s, Reece watched a Hispanic man with a very large birthmark on his face eating dinner with his family.  Impressed by the colors and unable to contain his excitement Reece exploded, “MOM!!  DO YOU SEE THAT MAN?!”  (I did see that man when we first walked in and thought to myself, “That’s a pretty shade of purple.  But, please, for the love of all that is good in my son, do not let him see that man!”  My silent plea was not granted.)  “HIS FACE IS HALF BROWN AND HALF PURPLE!!  How did Heavenly Father make a guy HALF BROWN AND HALF PURPLE??” 

What could I do?  I slowly, almost imperceivably, lowered my son’s pointed finger and said under my breath, “I don’t know.  You’ll have to ask Him someday.”  The man and I exchanged smiles – mine apologetic, his amused and understanding.     

At dinner one Sunday, Sadie announced she wanted to go on a mission…to teach the aliens about Jesus Christ.  Because she loves them.    

I’ve actually had a few proud, normal moments in my career.

At four years old, EmmaKaite sang “Nearer My God to Thee” for Sacrament meeting.  It was supposed to be a duet with Daniel until he got choked up and landed Emma with a solo.  She easily took over his part and finished the song by herself.  Absolutely beautiful.  

I’ll never forget when Sadie gave her first talk in Primary.  She retold the story of The Good Samaritan.  We recorded her practicing because we were sure she would be the first Sunbeam to speak in General Conference and we wanted to remember her when…

 

The Transcript

Sadie: ONE TIME THERE WAS A MAN HURT.  Another man found him and he helped him.  He put the hurt man on his own donkey and took him to the inn.  The man felt happy when he helped the hurt man.  I feel happy when I hurt others.

Me:  …when I help others…help!

Sadie:  …when I help! others.  In the name of Jesus Christ, Amen.

 

But enough stories about the kids and their awesome accomplishments.  This one is about me and mine:  The Day I Saved My Kids Life.  Or, as I sometimes refer to it:  The Day I Won The Layperson Semi-surgical Procedure of the Year Award.  That single act automatically qualified me to join Daniel in the “I Literally Saved My Kid’s Life” Club. 

Daniel’s account of the event that earned him a spot in the ILSMKL Club:  “She was choking on some chicken.  I did the Heimlich.” 

The event that earned me a spot, of course, was far more dramatic and detailed.  In fact, it was so involved, it began three days prior to the actual life-saving. 

The Sunday previous to the semi-surgical procedure, Reece had a bloody nose.  We didn’t think anything of it because the heater had been on since the beginning of time and it was dry in the house.  His nose ran ickily for the next few days, but what 3-year-old boy’s nose doesn’t?  Then sometime near the end of the week, his face starting stinking so badly I could hardly hold him on my lap.  I bathed him and brushed every spot in his mouth I could reach.  Nothing alleviated the stench.  Just to be sure I wasn’t insane, I asked Daniel to smell the boy’s nostrils.  Even Daniel could smell the stink and that’s saying something. 

The next morning, two feet away from Reece, I smelled something wretched (like spoiled-tuna-fish-with-feta wretched).    

I grabbed him by the ears, peered into his nose and spotted a gooey, stinking blockage deep in his right nostril. THE SMELL WAS HORRIFYING! I’m gagging just thinking about it…

I bribed him with a Reese’s Peanut Butter Cup to let me poke around.  He wanted to go to “the kid doctor”.  “I am the kid doctor” was all it took to convince him to grant me nostril access.  (Every good mother moonlights as a kid doctor so it wasn’t total deceit.  Besides, the stink was so bad, I couldn’t take him out in public.)

I laid my kid doctor semi-surgical tools on the bathroom counter: a Q-tip, tweezers, an emergency storage flashlight, Neosporin and some toilet paper. 

Perched on the toilet at a negative 65 degree angle, flashlight between my teeth, I grabbed hold of that gooey mass and gave it a good tug.  I only got a tiny fraction of the Superbooger – one sticky, stinking strand of goo. 

(Mind you, I had no nasal scope.  It was pure layperson mom rescue stuff happening right there in my bathroom). 

On my second attempt, I slipped those tweezers so far up his nostril, I thought I touched the olfactory lobe of his brain.  I pulled out a piece of slimy, bodily-fluid-covered Scotch tape scrunched up and folded over at the very top.  How could the kid breathe?  His nose had been cut by the corner of the tape and was totally infected.  I’m surprised he didn’t have a raging fever!

The smell engulfed the room.  Nay, the smell engulfed the bathroom, the hall and two adjacent bedrooms.  I swear it grew arms and attempted to choke the life out of me.  I gagged and swooned and gagged and swooned and almost-threw-up for a good 60 seconds.      

Disgusting as it was, the foul antagonist had to be preserved until I could show Daniel.  But how?  I decided the best option was to contain the tape and it’s odor in a triple extra heavy duty Ziploc baggie with an armed guard. 

I swabbed Reece’s nostril with some very medically-advanced tap water and a pea-sized amount of Neosporin.  By bedtime that night…no feta, no tuna, no odorous trace of the plastic offender!   

What a tough kid my little man was!  He didn’t squawk once thanks to his high pain tolerance and unwavering faith in my kid doctoring abilities.

And that’s how I earned The Layperson Semi-surgical Procedure of the Year Award.  Here’s the thing:  I gave myself the award.  Who else was going to do it?  No one gives us medals, our names never appear in the Grand Journal of Professional Mothers, but we are doers and achievers just the same. 

I would love to hear the awards you’ve earned.  What needs to be printed and stuck on your fridge?   

Here’s a list of ideas to get you started.  Feel free to claim one as your own:

◊ The “I Saved My Kid’s Social Life by Not Allowing Her to Pick Her Nose and Eat It” Award

◊ The “I Survived a Two-Hour Grocery Store Tantrum Without Throwing One Myself” Award

◊ The “I Could Bake an Entire Casserole Using Only the Crumbs from the Floor of My Tahoe” Award

◊ The “At Least I Waited Until After the Kids Left for School to Eat Apple Pie for Breakfast” Award.  (Actually, that one’s taken.  I earned it a few weeks ago.)

So let’s hear it, Ladies.  What should be displayed on your fridge?

 

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