Toe Story

The only photo chronicling this story has been banned by the patient. It is actually a rather sweet scene. She's sitting apprehensively in one of her Dad's home office chairs. One foot is bare and being examined by our dear friend, Dr. Marvin. He's speaking soothingly, assuring her that the problem is correctable. He hastens to add that timely intervention is advised. She frowns, winces, looks almost five again. This precious adult child has always been healthy. Any illnesses or injuries have been fleeting and totally rejected by her from their onset.

Caitlin's concerned parents are relieved that she's being seen, albeit in a unique setting, by the man whose patient she became while still in the diaper stage. He knows her well, treats her like family. She has complete confidence in him and we suspect her digit has been inflamed for some time. Most likely she wanted to wait until familiar hands could inspect the injured area.

With some trepidation it is agreed that the procedure will be performed the next day. Not exactly a scintillating way to spend a holiday. Dr. Marvin assures her that it won't take long. She'll be able to wear socks and shoes immediately afterwards. Even spend the day at the zoo as she has planned.

In the meantime, soaking in warm salt water three times a day for twenty minutes each session is prescribed. Being a mom, I have just the right small plastic tub in which to insert her ailing foot. Table salt is in the cupboard. I can tell she's not convinced of the necessity of this ablution, but she humors the older generation. Her easy acquiescence tells me that there's more discomfort than she's expressed.

On the appointed day, we wait to learn at what time she will be worked into the clinic's schedule. She is, after all, without an appointment. No problem. Dr. Marvin will fix everything.

The question of who will accompany Caitlin to the clinic receives much discussion. Her dad and I are the final choices. There's something really endearing about going to the doctor with your grown-up daughter. We must give her comfort and increase her bravery quotient.

As we sit in the clinic waiting room, the next decision looms. Who, if anyone, will join her in the exam room? She says rather self-assuredly that she'll be going in there alone. Fine. We respect her need for privacy and the fact that she's no longer a kid, just our kid.

A nice nurse leads Caitlin down the hallway to take her vitals. Dr. Marvin starts the very painful procedure by anesthetizing the affected area with shots of Lidocaine. We're waiting patiently where she left us.

In about five minutes, Dr. Marvin appears at the exam room doorway. He says, "She wants her Mommie." That's me. A very non-brave person, but one who is ready for Mom duty always.

I find a girl in pain. The injections aren't working for some reason. She can still feel too much.

We'll hold hands like so many years ago. This time both of us will be very careful that our ring fingers aren't involved in the hand-holding. No extra pain needed when squeezing is involved.

She has a firm grasp on my right hand. I'm trying to look confident, slightly casual. With my hopelessly non-poker face, I speculate that she sees right through my thoughts. I'm focusing on the flooring. She asks why. I comment on the tile. Is this inane or insane?

Remembering how we handled health matters in the past, I ask if she wants a story. Both of us know that I asserted that a whole phalanx of maladies could be cured with a sick cloth (aka wet washcloth) applied to the forehead, a new coloring book and box of colors, and Mom sitting nearby telling one of her 'stories.' Part myth, part reality, Caitlin has clung to these home remedies. They've gotten her through flu, food poisoning, respiratory ailments, wisdom tooth extraction, and maybe even a broken heart or two.

I have none of the usual accoutrements with me so I must rely on my invisible box of stories. I ask which one she'd like to hear. She's thinking about Dr. Marvin's ministrations and her misery. I suggest the "Grandpa, the goats, and Michael" tale. She readily agrees. So I begin with a family story that she can tell as well as I can although it happened three years before she was born.

Her older brother was visiting my parents on their farm in Mississippi. He'd been 'helping' my Daddy gather the goat herd into the barn lot. Daddy told Michael specifically to stay away from the goat kids and to be sure to latch the barn gate.

Michael was merely eight and definitely not a farm boy. He chose, for whatever reason, to ignore Daddy's directions. The results were almost disastrous. Approaching the small kids, he invoked the ire of the nanny goat and she proceeded to butt him. At that moment, the barn gate loosened and all the goats escaped.

My daddy, the soul of patience, banished his small helper and sent him back to the farmhouse. Daddy spent considerable time corralling the errant goats and firmly latching the gate. Then he walked back to the house.

Once there, he found a saddened and chastened grandson sitting on the concrete steps. Several small puppies played around the steps and Michael stroked them absently. Daddy sat on one edge of the step. Michael was at the other far end.

As they sat, perhaps each re-thinking recent events, Michael began to inch closer and closer to his grandpa. In a few minutes, their shapes were side-by-side and the incident was over.

The story doesn't take much time in the retelling. Dr. Marvin is still busy with the invasive procedure. Caitlin has uttered "Ow." repeatedly. She says, "I'm almost ready to swear." Her doctor tells her to go ahead. Caitlin replies sweetly, "I can't swear in front of my mom." I try not to chuckle.

We need another story. During her childhood, I created a character named Paul Pig. He had many adventures and was available in the evening before she went to sleep, on long trips, during sicknesses or for no reason at all. Caitlin's dad invented his own character whose name was Horace the Horse. I'm sure she considers these stories an integral part of her personal history.

Paul is called upon to ease us through these unpleasant moments. I haven't thought about him in quite a while, but I'm willing to invent a new chapter or two. Caitlin is temporarily mollified and during my spin, interjects embellishments. I'm relieved because I figure the story has distracted her from the pain and discomfort.

Paul and Petunia Pig now have two daughters. They are named Penelope and Persephone. (She approves of the names. Whew.) The Pig family wants to go on a pigcation to Pittsburgh. They spend considerable time getting ready and are confident that their destination is just a few farms distant from where they are living. Along the way, they stop at IHOP. (She's mortified at this choice. I quickly explain that the Pig family wants pancakes.)

I'm running out of story ideas but luckily Dr. Marvin is finishing his work. He's used a clamp, though we're not sure why. A scalpel in the hand of our practiced physician completes the task. He's certain the problem has been eradicated.

In Caitlin's deep blue eyes, I believe there are unshed tears. Her bravery is admirable. I'm sure I would have faltered repeatedly if I had been the patient and she the one holding my hand.

She slips the healing foot into a flip flop. Antibiotics are being prescribed. There's a pharmacy nearby. Dr. Marvin escorts her to the facility and tells the staff that she's a very important patient and to fill her prescription. She'll wait her turn and pay a $2.40 co-pay. (Her current health insurance is excellent.)

We're done. Fixed. Almost all better. I'm breathing easily once more. She's smiling. The redness in my right hand is fading. Pills in hand, we leave for home.

Once back at the house, there's a very minor cut on her hand that needs Neosporin and a Band-Aid. She rummages through my assortment and is tickled to find a Care Bears Band-Aid. Childhood revisited once more.

Later in the week, Caitlin's visiting friend, Alex, awakes with a viral respiratory infection. Caitlin calmly tells her, "This is the best house in which to be sick." Great compliment.

Dr. Marvin makes another house call just before Caitlin and Bobby are scheduled to leave. He inspects the recuperating digit, pronounces it totally well, and says that no more antibiotics are necessary. She's elated and I bet she'll be sharing this experience for a long, long time.

That's the end of the Toe Story.