For the first time since November of 2011 (but who is counting…oh wait, I am!) I was away on a girls’ weekend. That is right, y’all, I was with almost all of my besties, wearing our cozies, staying up late, talking, eating, making goal sheets for 2013, and sleeping until noon ten.

It was, and I don’t think I exaggerate when I say this, heaven.

That is right up until I got a text message on Sunday from Robert about Emma’s (still newish) pierced ears. It should be noted that before I left on Friday, Emma revealed to me that she had not cleaned her ears for three days straight. A bit of a problem considering that she A) is supposed to clean them three times A DAY and B) she has thicker than average lobes, making her more susceptible to potential issues. After I finished reading her the riot act gently reminding her that she needs to be responsible and clean her damn adorable ears to avoid an infection, I practically left tire marks in the driveway to get out of town.

Robert assured me that he had been monitoring the cleaning process Friday and Saturday, and all was well.

Sunday, as I sat sipping coffee, I got this text message:

Robert: I need your help with Emma’s ear. It is really swollen.

Me: What? I told you guys to clean it really well. Lift up on the earring and pull it away from her lobe, so you can really get the alcohol around it.

Robert: I can’t lift up on the earring to clean around it, because I can’t actually see it. Or find it.

Me: WHAT? I am calling you right now.

 

Let’s just say that a conversation occurred and pictures were exchanged over text, and it was determined that yes, in fact, there was no visible diamonique stud anywhere on her ear lobe. However, the earring was in fact still in her ear. Basically, from what I could tell from the comfort of the beach house couch, it was obvious that something needed to be done.

 

 

Given that it was a Sunday, there were not a lot of available options. And the parent who would normally handle any kind of medical crisis was eating her weight in lemon cookies hundreds of miles away. This left Robert in charge, and me advising from the sidelines.

Thankfully, there is a brand new Children’s Urgent Care center just a few minutes from our home. Abby was successfully passed off to her grandparents, and Robert and Emma headed to the Urgent Care. And I sat waiting for an update. Feeling nervous and anxious that I was so far away and could not control the situation myself. Which of course led me to realize that one of my 2013 goals should definitely be to stop trying to control everything…a post for another day, obviously.

Brace yourself here, people, because what I am about to tell you is going to sound shocking.

The next call I receive from Robert is telling me the doctor at the CHILDREN’S Urgent Care does not feel comfortable removing Emma’s earring, and he should proceed downtown to the Children’s EMERGENCY ROOM.

So that the doctor there can remove my child’s earring.

You honestly cannot even make this kind of stuff up.

I was kind of surprised she also didn’t suggest traveling by ambulance, you know just in case the paramedics needed to do some sort of ear-saving, emergency procedure. No one needs a nine year-old Van Gogh, after all.

Needless to say, Robert thought that sounded like overkill, and I agreed.

As someone who spent a fair amount of time in medical lounges talking about patients behind their backs (yes, your doctors and nurses do it, too!), I could already see where this would be headed. In the height of flu season, on a Sunday no less, a man shows up at the ER to have a doctor remove his daughter’s earring. Let’s be real here, y’all, the medical professionals would barely be able to make it out of the curtained area before doubling over in laughter.

Then they would attempt not to actively laugh while they took two minutes to remove the earring and then sent us a bill for three million dollars.

It was agreed instead that he would take her to a different, regular Urgent Care first. You know, kind of like a second opinion sort of deal. For an embedded earring.

At the end of it all, with a quick, numbing shot and a competent, capable, physician the earring was out, and Emma was on her way to a McDonald’s Happy Meal reward.

Start to finish, Robert said it took ten minutes. She can even leave the earring in her other ear and have this one re-pierced in a few months.

And Emma learned a valuable lesson, which is that unless you want to spend three months looking like an elementary school-aged pirate, you should probably take better care of your earrings.