the last thing this baby needs is more laser treatments. too bad for her! today we took her for her fourth and not-quite-final installment of hemangioma zappage. (i believe i have blogged treatments one and two.)
the debate, you'll recall, was fierce. in the end, i ceded to mrs nice guy's demands that the benign tumor be attacked with a laser, even though said tumor is temporary, both because it could have potentially impeded her breathing and because i ultimately do everything mrs nice guy tells me to do.
the treatments have been going great. the nose is still a wee bit bulbous and purplish. but after each zap session, the color starts to dissipate and the swelling goes down. the laser "surgery" itself is always quick: the doctor storms in efficiently with a bevy of nurses (he is apparently one of the best private laser surgeons in new york city, which is perhaps why all his nurses and interns are lovely, lovely young ladies). donning protective eyewear, one nurse and i hold the baby down on the table; another nurse places gauze over the baby's eyes. then the doc leans in with a laser device that looks like a really fancy pen. he places the tip of the laser-pen on the baby's schnozzle, sparks shoot out here, they shoot out there, and then he's done.
this is not to say that the baby is thrilled with her treatments. sure, the hemangioma is receding, mom and dad are happy and the baby can breathe. but! she is a sneaky little critter with her own little avenues of revenge. after today's laser zappery (which, we are told, feels like a rubber band snapping on bare skin -- not totally pain-free, but not exactly being disemboweled alive), mrs nice guy took the kid into another room to nurse her with her all-powerful breasts. the baby ate. the baby was soothed. the tears dried. then the baby smiled! with her little blackened nose, she looked helplessly pathetic and adorable. and yes! she still loved us! she even giggled at me!
then she looked right into my eyes and took the biggest crap of her short life. mustard babyshit (or, as i call it, musturd) was everywhere -- up over the back of her diaper, all over her pants. we changed her right there, mrs nice guy and i managing to smear shit all over each other. with the diaper off and musturd all over the examining table, the baby decided there could be no better time to urinate, squirming all the while and mixing the sludge into a hideous toxic cocktail.
we cleaned her up as best we could. then as i cradled the baby, telling her how well she did during her laser treatment, she looked up at me and smiled again! she still loved me! then she puked vibrant white baby barf all over my red shirt. with jeans on, i looked very patriotic. then my lovely wife went back to work and i boarded the subway with the incredible excreting machine only to be accosted by well-meaning dipshits.
a note to new york city subway riders: when you see a tired, vaguely sad, turd-bestained fellow riding a brooklyn-bound train wearing a baby strapped to his chest, please please please DO NOT lean in and say: "oooh. what a cute baby! WHAT HAPPENED TO HER NOSE?" he does not know how long he can go on suppressing the unbearable urge to kick you, full force, in your reproductive organ.
here are some answers that will in the future, perhaps, shut down the overly-curious stranger:
- "she was crying and wouldn't sleep so i punched her."
- "she has face-cancer and three days to live."
- "what happened to her nose? more like, what happened to your ugly fucking face?"
- "i was teaching her how to smoke and she caught on fire. stupid baby."
- look down at her and start screaming: "OMIGOD! HER NOSE IS TURNING BLACK! SOMEBODY PLEASE HELP MY BABY!"
- "eh?! me no speakee dipshit."
- "we got her a nose job for her four-month birthday!"
- "they taste better blackened."