Hero Story #27

When I was a little girl, I stubbed my toe regularly.
I didn't like shoes.
Apparently I had an issue picking up my feet.

My grandpa had this little bottle of antiseptic.
Had the built-in wand on the top.
Merthiolate......Mercurochrome.....which ever one stung the most...that's what it was.
It was horrid stuff.

Popo would put me on the bathroom counter and dangle my feet in the sink.
We'd wash the bloody stub and dry it on Mamo's good towel.
He'd always get this look.
It was the "this is really going to hurt you" look.
But of course, in the name of infection prevention, it was the best thing for me.

He would take the wand out and start blowing puffs of air onto my toe.
The medicine would drop onto the sore and I would wince and moan.
He would blow and blow and blow until he looked like he might hyperventilate.
He was attempting to distract me from the initial pain while the medicine did its job.
What it also did was let me know he cared enough about me to do what was best for me....even though I didn't like it. He cared and that always went a long way.

It does my heart good when the truth tellers in my life stick around for what comes next, even when it involves whining and tears.