I was playing in the toy room with Isaac on Friday night. His attention alighted on Rachel's old stethoscope, now moonlighting as a toy. He tried it on his chest. Nothing. He tried it on my chest. Still nothing.
"Fait voir," I told him. Let me see it. He handed it to me and I noticed that one of the kids over the years -- it could even have been Matthew -- had gnawed and worried at the grommets (earpieces) until they came off.
I settled it gingerly in my ears. It was pokey and uncomfortable but not painful. I put the scope over my chest and ... the right side slipped. Into my ear.
The pain was blinding, searing. I pulled it out as fast as I could, vocalizing something like "aaaaahhhhh!"
Isaac was solicitous. "You fait bobo, Daddy?"
I could feel the blood starting to pool, but the pain dulled quickly. To make a long story short, I scraped the hell out of the ear canal but the eardrum wasn't ruptured.
"My wife already told me not to stick sharp things in my ears," I told the doctor, "so we can skip past that part." He was sympathetic. "To tell the truth, I did that with a stethoscope too once."
But public enemy number one, according to this ENT, is Q-tips.
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