Friday night concluded with quite the undertaking. Our following adventure began earlier this evening as you quietly sat endeavoring to scoop tiny spoonfuls of split peas from the cookware placed in front of you on your desk into smaller containers. Content to be left setting there as you experimented with each of the utensil provided, slowly filling each container only to elevate it up and pour it back to the large container.
I am not sure what enticed you to even consider the thought, but your thoughts turned to deeds and we found ourselves promptly setting you on the floor as we attempted to withdraw the peas shoved high into your nasal passages. Countless attempts to convince you to dispel the pea by blowing your nose came with no success. After what seemed like eternity, we gave up hope of success on our own and consulted a physician. Contacting a nurse we scheduled an appointment at the nearest doctor's office capable of facial x-rays. Within minutes I found myself transporting you to the car when suddenly with great excitement you turned to me, claiming, "I got it, daddy, I got it." Held in a tightly clasped hand was the green split pea we had unsuccessfully attempted to withdraw. In spite of your achievement, your mother and I felt it wise to seek the doctor's experience in validating no other obsticles remained.
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| Camping this summer before we learned we needed a surgery |
We arrived at the doctor's office shortly after 7:20 PM and spent another two hours waiting for results from examinations and x-rays. The x-ray and exam exhibited no addtional peas to be detected. We thanked the doctor for her help and prepared to leave for home. In parting, the doctor wisely reminded us that she has had to remove the same type of bean from the same child in the same day. "Don't give her the chance to try again", kindly intructed the doctor. We arrived home a little after 9:00 PM when promptly your mother took your beans from the living room and stored them away.
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