A flip-flop and a nose do not a good match make

That little pink flip-flop, smaller than a penny, was the source of much drama and concern a couple of weeks ago.

This tale has it's beginnings way back in June when Lola received a Polly Pocket playset for her third birthday. She was thrilled with her gift and set about playing with it as soon as her daddy got it put together. Being familiar with Polly and her teensy-tiny accessories, I opted to put the very smallest pieces of the playset high up out of Lola's reach.

I obviously underestimated the tenaciousness of my daughter, who managed to show me that I had indeed not placed these items high up and out of reach. Lola managed to not only get these items from where I'd stashed them, but she also did so without me knowing about it. She's quite covert for a three-year-old.

I learned she'd found Polly's accessories one morning when we were enjoying a lazy day at home. I was on the computer perusing the Internet while Lola was watching cartoons and Amelia was watching television in her room. I heard Lola blowing her nose, but thought nothing of it because she does that quite often.

However, my day took a dramatic turn when Lola asked, "Momma, can you help me get this flip-flop?" to which I replied, "What flip-flop, honey?" The course for our day was set when she answered, "The Polly Pocket flip-flip in my nose?"

My first instinct was to attempt to locate and retrieve the shoe myself. I took Lola to the bathroom and, using a flashlight, found the shoe in her left nostril. It was pretty high up there, but I thought I could get it if she would cooperate.

I first tried closing her right nostril and having her blow out of her left one hoping it would propel the flip-flop out. No such luck. I then remembered my brother-in-law receiving the advice from his pediatrician to blow into his daughter's mouth to push Nerds candy out her nose when she was a little younger than three. I attempted this maneuver, but it didn't do anything more than make Lola madder than a wet hen.

My last attempt at getting the flip-flop out of her nose involved a pair of cosmetic tweezers. Let's just say, that was a bad idea that left Lola a screaming mess and me frantic.

I knew then the only option would be to have a doctor remove the shoe from her nostril. I called the pediatrician's office, but be danged if my timing wasn't terrible because my call coincided with the office closing for lunch. I talked to the appointments clerk who inquired if I could wait until the office opened after lunch. Since I knew this wasn't a bonafide emergency, I took the first available appointment after lunch and crossed my fingers the shoe wouldn't decided to navigate further up into Lola's sinuses in the meantime.

Our arrival at the pediatrician's office was known to all who encountered us since Lola, whose last visit, at which she received shots, was fresh on her mind, was screaming like a wild banshee and Amelia, who was pissed because Lola's predicament was preventing us from going to the bounce house as I'd promised the day before, was stomping and fussing for all to hear and see.

After an initial consultation with the doctor, he and I as well as a nurse held Lola down on the table so he could look in her nose to determine if he could get the shoe out or if we were going to have to see an otolaryngologist (ear, nose and throat doctor) to get it removed. It took just one quick look for him to know it was too high in her nose for him to get it. Just great, I thought.

Luckily for us, the ENT's office is located on the same campus as our pediatrician. Additionally, the appointments clerk said they could see her immediately. Well, not so immediately as it turned out.

I loaded my wild, unhappy duo into the van and drove over to the ENT while listening to Amelia chastise her little sister for putting a shoe in her nose when, "You know you're only supposed to stick your finger in your nose!"

I knew as soon as I entered the office that we were not going to be seen immediately because the waiting room was full of patients. It was so full there was only one chair available, which I took and made the girls sit on the floor while I filled out Lola's paperwork. Amelia eventually snagged a seat on a couch when a nice grandmomma made her grandson scoot over. I was just proud my chair was positioned directly over an air-conditioning vent since I was sweating like a whore in church.

We waited about an hour during which time Lola busied herself with some toys and crayons and paper  I had in my bag. During this time she seemed to forget about our reason for being there in the first place, but, let me tell you, it came racing back into focus when the nurse called us back to be seen.

Lola started out with a mild whimper, but soon was screaming and fussing so loud that I feel confident the residents at the nearby nursing home must have been thinking the doctors at this office must have added torturing small children to their list of specialties.

Thankfully, the doctor has had quite a bit of experience at retrieving foreign objects from the noses of children. However, he about scared me to death when he said he would make two attempts in the office to get it. If he was unable to do so, he would schedule an operating room for the following day so he could sedate Lola and get it. As soon as he said operating room my heart started racing and I became determined he was getting that shoe out right then and there.

I said, "C'mon, let's do this. I know you can get it." I then sat down in the exam chair with Lola on my lap and wrapped my legs around hers while one nurse held my legs closed so as to keep Lola restrained. I also wrapped my arms around hers while a second nurse held her head still. Anyone walking by would have looked upon this scene and heard Lola's screams and thought there might have been some credence to the whole child-torture theory.

During all this commotion, the doctor was the picture of calm. He gently inserted an instrument into Lola's nose, opened her nostril as wide as he could, peered in there and announced, "I can get it." He then pulled that instrument out, retrieved a different one, went back into her nose and in a matter of seconds presented me with a snotty, bloody pink flip-flop. As soon as it was out, everyone in the room cheered and Lola quieted down and said, "Whew! That was bad!"

Within minutes we were on our way, $50 poorer and exhausted. As we were leaving the office, Lola said, "Momma, that was awful" to which Amelia replied, "Yes it was. I hope you've learned a valuable lesson from all this!" True words, my darling. True words.

To make up for our missing out on getting to play at the bounce house and to reward Amelia for being so patient during the whole shoe-in-the-nose debacle, I took the girls the following day to the local bounce house emporium and let them play for over two hours. I used those two hours to relax with a recent edition of "Better Homes and Gardens" and plan my later attack on all teensy-tiny potential nostril blockers that might still be lurking in our home.

Since this incident, I am proud to say Lola has refrained from sticking anything but her finger in her nose. I think this has been a real learning experience for her. I know I've learned quite a few things from it not the least of which is that that bitch Polly Pocket and all her accessories are no longer welcome in my home.