Staple Removal

Ok, seriously. He's a wimp.

I really hate to say it, but lets just call it what it is, people. Fine, he's gone through a lot in the past 8 months, but PUH-LEASE!

I knew yesterday was going to be tough and that it wouldn't be easy to convince him that the time was right for the staples to come out (past due, if you really want my honest opinion). So, late in the afternoon after a stressful day at the infusion center (see yesterday's post) I gave him the warning that the staples were absolutely coming out tonight. I wouldn't bug him about when; I left that up to him. Whenever he was ready, he was to hop in a hot shower and scrub the incision area with some scrub brushes provided by the hospital. There were several small scab areas (yuck, I know I said 'scab') that needed to get cleaned off, and two large areas of scabbing that were hiding the staples underneath.

Finally, at about 10 p.m. he decided to take a shower. He wasn't rushing into it at all. He took a nice long shower and did a great job of scrubbing his staple zipper clean.

Then the excuses started. "Not yet, I'm cold."

"Let me just lay down for a couple minutes."

"I need something to drink."

"After the next set of ice dancers is done."

I am absolutely not kidding. Each and every one of those excuses came out of his mouth. Honest to blog.

When he was finally ready to let me start, I cleaned off the area with some sterile soap and was ready to start yanking - - - I mean, carefully removing the staples. Then he tells me, "Only do five, and then I need a break." Really? This is going to take all night. So I am poised and ready to take out the very first one and he says, "Hold on, I think I might have to throw up." ARE. YOU. KIDDING. ME.

Now let me stop right here and tell you: I was trying sooooooo hard to be patient, really I was. But it was going on 11 p.m. and I was getting tired and wanted to crawl in bed myself. It made me remember when the boys were little and they tried all the delay tactics so that they wouldn't have to go to bed. Not to mention that the only thing on the Olympics was the ice dancing finals, which was torture enough for one evening. Fine. I did it his way.

After over an hour of preparation, I finally took out the first staple. It came out like a hot knife slips through butter. Johnny was all tensed up, with the tail of his shirt in his mouth and grimmacing like you wouldn't believe. One down.

I took out another 4 staples and just like he asked, we took a break. I had to sit through an entire ice dancing performance before he was ready to go again. "Just do up to my belly button and then stop for another break." Uh-huh.

Five more staples out. Then I announce that the next few are going to be "doozies" because they are around the belly button and they have gone deep and are crusted over with scab. I know, yummy, right? "Wait, wait. I need a drink."

I needed a drink at this point, too, but it certainly wasn't 7-Up that I wanted.

We had to wait through two ice dancing couples before I could move on. "Ok, you can go now."

Now I have to admit, the belly button staples were tough to get out. It couldn't have been comfortable with me digging around, but they came out and Johnny didn't even cry.

But, you guessed it. Another break. At this point we have about 15 staples removed and about 40 to go. I told him that the next ones were a "piece of cake" and that I was going to go fast. I actually got another eight or nine out before I had to stop. Short break this time, and then I started in again. I went as fast as I could without drawing attention to the actual number of staples that were coming out. I really felt like he was focusing too much on the number of staples, rather than the ease with which they were being removed.

Finally when we were on the home stretch, I lied to him. I said, "Only 10 more to go, honey." He never looked down or even opened his eyes, so I knew I could get away with it. There were actually only 5 more. I counted down while he chewed on his shirt tail: 10, 9, 8, 7, 6, 5 . . . and when I said "DONE!" He was all surprised and confused. He said, "I thought you said ten!" "I lied."

Honestly, I worked up a sweat in the 75 minutes it took to take 50-something staples out.

Finally, I gave it a good once over with an anti-bacterial/anti-microbial scrub and then covered it lightly with some gauze, just so the little bit of ooze from the staples being removed wouldn't get on his jammies. Then I got him another drink, gave him his pills for the night and tucked him in bed.

"Call my mom and tell her they are out."

"Seriously, Johnny, it is midnight. She won't be up."

"Yes, she will. I told her I would call. She'll be up."

So I called Ginger and told her what a good boy he was and that she raised such a bwave widdle man.

The end.