Blister

I've gotten emergency calls at work about Mo before, of course, but they've generally been seizure related.

This time, however...

Mo apparently put her hands on the radiant top stove at her Mom's house while it was still hot from making her lunch. If I had a working camera, I'd post pics: the blisters are spectacular. The backs of her fingers and the palm of one hand—she apparently had her hands in fist position, and was planing to use the stove as a counter top to boost herself up to get something.

When the ER doctor left, she told her mother, 'He's cute. And handsome.'

This is a kid who does not normally speak in sentences. And the notion that she registered men as attractive was news to me. I knew she dug this one boy at school, but maybe because she doesn't form sentences, I was able to imagine that it was strictly a platonic sort of crush.

So AFK asked her, 'Do you want to tell him that?'

'Yesssss.'

I don't know if the pain cut through the noise or if she really found this doctor irresistible. I wasn't there, but times I've been to this ER with her, I've noticed the women on staff are, on average, Death by Sexy. One lobotomist in particular, and a couple of the nurses totally got their chocolate in my peanut butter.

So I'm not ready for my ten year old to be boy crazy, okay? Especially not my ten year old who still hasn't learned the Stoves are Hot chapter of Listen to Your Father.

We're supposed to keep the blisters dressed if possible, but of course that's not happening. I've never seen a band aid last thirty seconds on Mo. They gave us some ointment, which she hates but sort of tolerates.

She's been knocking the blisters on the table, the walls of the shower, etc., I think to try and control the stimulus.

She went to bed eagerly enough, and with her usual melatonin and seizure meds supplemented by Tylenol with codeine, you'd think she'd conk out. She looked tired enough.

But no, she was up twenty minutes later. And just now, finally, went back to bed, still fussy but apparently willing to try.

Ever since she got back up she's been saying, 'Ouch. Stop. Stop.' Very clearly, in a calm voice. Firm, like she's trying to order her hands to stop hurting.

Plenty of times, she's gotten things just for clearly communicating. When a kid who tends to whine and act out instead of just saying she wants a cheeseburger says, 'I want Sonic, please,' what parent isn't going to see if they can't swing a trip to the drive-in? You figure it's hard for her to form the words, hard for her to communicate that way, and you want to encourage the behavior.

I felt like when she'd say, 'Stop. Stop. Ouch,' she was thinking, For crying out loud, I'm saying the fucking words. Stop hurting already!