29 May 2011

A Complete Bubble Failure

27 May 2011
Shortly after I arrived I was given a WonderBubbleTub . . . one of those big containers with three long bubble wands . . . where you put the bubbles in the bottom and even if it falls over of flips upside-down the bubbles don’t spill.  (And it works!  I tried it!  No spillage!)
So after my big proclamation of my new found adoration for the use of bubbles in therapy, our pharmacist informed me that should I decide to make my own, glycerin is available in the pharmacy.  I didn’t know what glycerin was, but I was thankful that it was at my disposal.






This morning I stopped by to see Black-Market-Urwugida-M., who, sure enough, hunted the shelves and produced a bottle of my very own.  
I took it home and pulled out the recipe my BFF Google gave me: 1 cup water, 2 Tbs glycerin, 4 Tbs dish soap.  Despite my hatred of measurements, I made sure the solution quantities were exact.  I took it for a test drive.  Lots and lots of bubbles with each small blow.  Victory!
I took the bucket and went to the hospital ready to thrill the socks off of Little B. (well, it would have if he wore socks).  
But I did crutch training first . . . which took three times as long as it should have.  But that’s a post for another day.
Finally, it was Little B.’s turn.  
I popped my head in the door of his room.  He glew . . . I mean glowed . . . wait, are either of those actually words??  I don’t know, there are too many languages floating around in my head.
He jumped out of bed and grabbed my index finger in his little fist and tugged me down the hallway.  Not going to lie, one of my favorite parts of the day is all the weird looks we receive when we walk through the hospital hand in hand.  He’s just too stinking cute! (Oh, side note . . . this story is too great not to tell: so this morning when I went to get him for his dressing changes, he took my hand and held it until we arrived in at the OR Bloc, at which time he dropped my hand, strutted through the swinging doors as if he was the president and walked up to every man in the Bloc to shake their hand.  All without a single word and stark naked.  PRICELESS, this kid!)
Where was I . . . oh yes, my failed bubbles.
His eyes grew again when he walked into my office and saw the monstrous bubble tub with not only one, but THREE magic wands to choose from.
I’m sad to say he only got about three good blows in.  After that our soapy syrup turned into a sort of hydro-glycerin.  That’s right, my cheap-o middle-of-nowhere-west-African dish soap had run it’s course!  It was all dissolved.  Try as we might, no more bubbles.
I’m not sure who was more disappointed . . . Little B. definitely gave up long before I did.    So, I’ve ordered some better quality dish soap from Niamey.  Hey, I can’t deprive a little boy of his bubbles!  (That, and I’m really enjoying them during playtime . . . I mean therapy)

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