Put a bandaid on it.

Tuesday afternoon as we were setting up the program, I moved our rolling construction shelf unit (known as a zone cart at the company I work for) up against the wall. The carts are birch plywood with a nice finish.

They're not cheap, between 400 and 700 depending on what you get. 



The cart isn't new, wasn't new when I opened this site in 2023. Seems to be wearing out now.

The front edge on top got me and a huge sliver went into my right hand at the base of my index and middle fingers.

Holy crap, that really hurt! 
Worse, it went in at an angle and was deep.

::sigh::

I tried to pull it out with tweezers and broke off the part that was barely sticking up, leaving the rest of it embedded.

Shit shit shit.

So I washed my hands, applied some antibiotic cream and a bandage and went back to setting up.

Covered the barely rough edge with some blue masking tape so no one else would have the same thing happen.

It was painful enough and buried deeply enough that I was concerned I wouldn't be able to remove it on my own. 

And since it was in my dominant hand, that made it even more difficult.

So as much as I hated to, I filed an incident/accident report in case I had to seek medical attention. 
Can you imagine? 
Work comp for a splinter. 
Sheesh.

So I did a lot of changing bandages and using antibiotic cream between Tuesday afternoon and Friday morning. Stupid thing. Every time I bumped it, it hurt. Every time I used my hand, it reminded me it was there. And never coming out, apparently.

On Thursday morning, I took my daily shower and noticed the skin over the splinter was soft and didn't hurt after the shower. So I told Eric that he was going to have to help me dig it out on Friday morning. He's off work on Fridays. 

I glopped unscented lotion on the wounded area and covered it with still another bandage when I went to bed on Thursday night. 

Got up Friday morning, found the skin soft and pliable and grabbed a needle and my tweezers and figured I could at least try. 
I got the damn thing out myself.
Eric was glad, he hated the idea of possibly hurting me.

It was almost half an inch long, yes, I measured it, and came out in two pieces. The 2nd piece was at an angle deep into the tissue under my index finger, but it didn't hurt to take it out, apparently the wound healed up a bit around it?

Score one for the good guys. There is no residual soreness. The rough edges of the skin I opened up are kind of a nuisance, they keep catching on my clothes,but I have lots of bandages. Tie dyed bandages. Of course. And no, I did not tie them. Or dye them.

Scrolling through some videos this morning I came across one from a teacher who has lots of video shorts. She talked about kids and how they always want bandages.
It's true. 

The video suggested that a bandage makes them feel better, so why not give them one?

I don't always read the comments, most of the time they're a waste or just aggravating, but there was some speculation that kids are 'just asking for attention'. 
As if that's a bad thing.
Of course they're asking for attention.
They're children. 

Why should asking for a bandage cause the adult in charge to get into big boss mode? It's just a bandage. 

Why not assume the child needs attention and get down off your goddamn high horse and SEE that child? 

Even if I had to pay for them myself I'd still give them to kids who think they need them. 

It makes them feel better. 
How is that wrong?
Sure wish I could feel better in such an easy way!

I don't question kids who ask for a bandage. 

They usually feel like they need to prove to me why they've asked for one, though. 
You can tell they've been questioned and faced with skepticism before.

They hold out an index finger with a tiny spot of dark pink or point vaguely to a spot on their arm or leg and tell me it hurts. 
They are accustomed to having to justify their requests. 
Ask permission to ask for help. 
Ever notice that?

I always give them one. I have bandaids in my clipboard and in the little first aid pack that goes everywhere with us.

I ask if they want to do it themselves or if they need help with it. 
Most of them are self sufficient and want to do their own. 
I hand them a bandage and watch.

Occasionally they're not as great at it as they thought they were, and they ::gasp:: wreck the bandage!!!

If you immediately thought they look aghast and embarrassed because they failed at putting on a band aid, you're right.

If they need another, I give them one. 
While saying something like, "I don't know why bandages don't behave better, always tying themselves in knots is not helpful!"

I may even lecture the new bandage. "Look, Buddy, behave yourself and go on straight! We don't want to have to tell you again!" 

Any time I can add humor and know the child(ren) will appreciate it is a good thing.

I've noticed that many adults, when faced with a crying, hurt child say, "Oh, you're okay, you're okay."

I don't like that. Even if they're just emotional and not physically hurt, it's still pain. It's not my job to tell them they're okay, it's up to them to let me know when they actually are okay.

I feel like people should ask, "Are you okay? Would you like to sit with me awhile and see if it starts to feel better? I'm sorry this happened to you."

It's similar to going to a doctor for help as an adult and being dismissed. 
The condescending pat on the arm or the leg and, "There, there," or something similar. "You're fine. Follow up in a month." Or whatever. 

People want to be heard. For the listener(s) to make an effort to understand them. Maybe offer to help fix the situation.

Kids... well, they're people. 
They want to be heard.
If they want a bandage or an ice pack, go get it.

It's a big deal to them.