Opinion

Tough mother’s love backfires on Mama

by
August 28, 2017

IVY WISE: Mother of the Year.
When my 10-year-old got hit in the finger with a football a couple of weeks ago she begged me to take her to the doctor, but I knew better, and knew this was a time for some of mother’s tough love.
I mean come on, how bad could it be?
‘‘You’ll be right,’’ I assured her, ‘‘it’s probably just bruised’’.
And then, in a more serious tone (with a touch of mummy knows best thrown in) added: ‘‘Anyway, you would be screaming if it was broken’’.
Unfortunately it was not enough to either convince or deflect her remonstrations.
Ayla was certain she had sustained some form of crippling, even permanent damage.
In my defence, Ayla has missed her calling by being a student, she would be far better on the stage — in a drama preferably (and between you and me she is a teensy bit of a hypochondriac) so I just figured she was milking me for sympathy.
I mean this is a girl who demands a band-aid for a paper cut — and wants the dressing changed regularly.
However, after several days; all right six days, she had maintained the rage and her broken hand was all I heard about.
But on the seventh day, when her finger started swelling alarmingly, and had taken on a distinct tinge of blue, I thought a trip to the doctor might not be such a bad idea.
And an X-ray confirmed it — her bloody finger was fractured.
Damn.
And yes, right behind that diagnosis came the inevitable flood-of-guilt trip.
‘‘I told you so Mum,’’ Ayla trumpeted.
‘‘You never believe me!
‘‘And I have been in so much pain.’’
Nothing a chocolate milkshake (aka mummy’s panacea) couldn’t fix though.
The doctor, who was giving me some decidedly sideways glances, administered the required splint and wrapped her fingers in a bandage before telling Ayla to keep it straight and avoid bumping it.
Not surprisingly my triumphant little patient has now taken that to the extreme; she’s not even taking the bandage off to wash her hand.
I can only imagine what kind of fungus is growing under that festering bandage.
But my daughter is adamant it is not coming off until it has healed properly — which she has also assured me might take a little longer than would be expected because of the neglect.
I can tell you this though; I will not be the one taking that stinking bandage off.
A mother’s love only goes so far.

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