A Splinter in my hand

personal narratives Jun 15, 2021

By Jessie Sha

It was a nice sunny summer day in my backyard until I got a splinter in my hand. It all started when I was in my old backyard sitting on the grass with my brother playing with a tree. We had such a big backyard that it felt like it went on forever with fruits and vegetables.  I didn’t understand why we needed to plant so many fruits and vegetables. I didn’t think much when I was three, so I didn’t have questions like, ‘why all these fruits?’, ‘I don’t even eat that much,’ and ‘Can’t we just buy them at the grocery store’, but I was three and I didn’t have these thoughts. Then my brother slid off the tree and picked up a stick. ‘Oh no! Here we go again!’ I thought. I started to run because I knew what he was going to do next; chase me. I ran across the backyard, but it was too big with so many obstacles like cantaloupe and watermelon and lots of vines, so I decided to pick a stick too and pointed it to Jason, my brother. I chased him around trying to catch him while I was as fast as a walking lemur.  Then I yelled, “Stop! Stop! Stop!”, dropped the stick, and ran to our pavilion. Suddenly my mom came out and said, “It’s lunch time!” I walked inside looking at a dot on the palm of my hand. I touched it and flinched ‘Ow’ I thought.  My hand was numb around that spot. ‘Is it poisonous?’ I thought again.  I finished lunch and said, “Mama what is this dot?” in Chinese because I was still learning English. After all, I was just three. “It’s a splinter.” She replied in the same language. “What is that?” I asked again. Then she said, “Go to bed and I’ll pull it out for you when you wake up.” I walked upstairs thinking, ‘Do I want to get the splinter out? Maybe it’s best if I just keep it in my hand.’ I went to bed for about 3 hours and when I woke up, I heard lots of talking at the front door. I went downstairs to see what was happening. Then my mom took my hand and took me to her room. She said “Go sit on my bed. I’ll go get the tools” I sat on her bed when she got out the tools. ‘What if I don’t want to do this?’ I thought again. ‘It’s going to be ok.’ I thought. Then my mom took out tweezers and a disinfecting wipe. I took one look at it and thought ‘Oh, no! That looks like it would be painful to get out.’ I looked at my splinter and curled up into a ball and clenched my knees with my hands.  Then she took my hand and wiped it with the cold wet disinfecting wipe. I smelled alcohol and I almost sneezed.  Then she took my hand and started pulling it with the cold tweezers. I winced and muttered “Ow, ow.” I felt it for one second just like a shot (which I hate) then I didn’t feel it anymore (probably because that spot was numb). Finally, she pulled it out and I said “I can’t feel it anymore!” I shouldn’t have underestimated my mom. I hugged her and left my mom’s quiet room to see what was going on in the noisy living room where I heard all the chitter chatter. 


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