Due to popular demand, I have decided to write a follow-up to the cotton-stuck-in-my-ear saga . In case you missed it, allow me to recap for your edification.
After a shower, I innocently dried my ears with a cotton swab so as to avoid a build-up of moisture which would inevitably lead to ear infections and sore throats and all kinds of mayhem. Pulled out the stick — no cotton. WTF? Yeah, it was stuck in my ear hole.
Everyone thinks it’s so funny. “Oh, look at the dumb girl who can’t even dry her own ears properly. Like SHE can be an expert on anything! Why does she even dare to offer her opinion on things like breastfeeding or zombies? She probably can’t even tell the difference between boobs and ears.”
There is nothing funny about cotton my in my ear.
Except for — wait — YEAH, that shit is actually pretty damn funny. And for the record, in case you were wondering, I can indeed tell the difference between my boobs and my ears. My boobs don’t have cotton stuck to them. And also?
No, sorry. That’s all I have. There is no “And also”.
So anyway. I didn’t realize until after my cotton story was published that I left out some very important bits. Like, the conclusion. Good stuff, that whole “how the story ended” thing. My bad.
After the much-put-upon doctor asked why I was using a cotton swab, and after I DIDN’T respond, “Because a knife would have caused more damage, dip-shit,” she sighed heavily and stuck the peek-in-your-ear tool down my canal, and said in a jaunty fashion, “Oh yeah, that baby is stuck W-A-A-A-A-Y down there.” I didn’t feel better.
Then she left the room. Without a word.
The hubz was like, “Um, do you think she’s coming back?”
I was like, “Well, I certainly hope so because this cotton ain’t coming out by itself!”
Several L-O-O-O-O-N-G minutes later, she returned with a scary package. Slowly unwrapping the plastic covering she wielded a scary tool my direction. It was one of those oddly shaped scissor-looking deals. And that’s about when I freaked.
“Wait, what is that? What are you going to do with that? Is this going to hurt?”
She sighed again. Because, you know, I am after all a VERY. STUPID. PERSON. Obviously. Only stupid people get cotton stuck in their ear.
“It shouldn’t hurt. Just hold still. Last week I had to pull a Lego out of a toddler’s nose. Surely if the toddler could handle THAT, you can handle THIS.” I wasn’t so convinced she was right. I have been accused of childlike behavior. And this? Seemed like a perfect moment to regress in age.
My hubz is fabulous. He could read my mind and see I was about to lose my shit. He used his magical eye-bolt-lazer-beams to capture my attention, and I found I could look nowhere but into his face, which I kind of wanted to punch even though none of this was his fault… except for maybe he’s the one who purchased the cheap-ass cotton swabs in the first place, in which case, this WAS all his fault.
No time to argue. I couldn’t move. The doctor plunged the silver poker of death into my ear, and slowly dislodged the cotton. It didn’t hurt. It felt great. Kind of like how your chin is suddenly relieved of pressure when you pop a really good zit.
She left the room again. We didn’t know if we were supposed to wait for her return, or go back to the reception area, or leave altogether. So we stood there. Like dumb monkeys, waiting to see if a banana magically appears.
Eventually a nurse asked what we were doing. I whimpered, “I JUST DON’T KNOW.” Do you see how socially inept I am? The hubz asked if we needed paperwork or anything, and she left to fetch our printout, which contained information about what I should do if experiencing heart attack symptoms. I’m not sure how cotton in my ear relates to my heart valves and whatnot. That shit scared me even further. Turns out, that is standard wordage which appears regardless of gunshot wound, broken bones, or ear infarctions. Who knew?
You may recall that we chose the E.R. over Urgent Care because (a) it was a holiday, and (b) we would get billed rather than be forced to pay up front. That? Not so true any more. Some damn snitch ratted out the economically oppressed and let the hospitals know that maybe they should ask for at least the copay at time of service. I hate that person.
Since it was a new policy, we didn’t have to pay the $115 cotton-retrieval fee immediately. I’m looking forward to that medical bill so I can laugh at it like I do all the others.