The One with the Chicken Chunks.
I admit. I am not a committed blogger, but sometimes in life events occur that should be well-documented. This, my friends, is one of those moments.
Because this deserves more than a Facebook post... The One with the Chicken Chunks.
[DISCLAIMER: Not intended for those with weak stomachs – but its really not that bad]
I arrived home from work on a lovely spring day to find the kids in their swimsuits, ready for a swim at the gym after an early dinner. We were eating our dinner that my fantastic cook-of-a-husband prepared when I look over to discover Gray with finger in nose and a guilty-as-all-get-out look on her face. Here she is, in case you forgot how cute she was.
And then, the sneezing started. The massive sneezing fit, which was causing small bits of partially chewed chicken to be deployed all over her highchair tray, was only interrupted a few times by ferocious bouts of nose rubbing. Much to my dismay, after that ended I realized that Gray, in fact, had 2 pieces of chicken up her nose - one for each nostril because my baby girl likes to be a little socialistic with her toddler habits. In all fairness, I can't say for certain that she put the chicken up her nose, but it was definitely there.
The mommy-fretting began, and the sneezing continued. Frantically, I was asking Brent what we should do while trying to wipe my angry toddler’s nose, hoping to dislodge the chicken chunks. The early victory came about 2 minutes after said chicken chunks were discovered… the first piece came soaring out of Gray’s right nostril. I stood and stared with shock and relief as my husband quickly wiped it up and ran to the sink to dispose of the snotty piece of poultry. It was probably about the size of my pinky fingernail, which is pretty incredible considering how absolutely tiny my daughter is (including her nostrils).
That only took about 2 minutes, so hopefully the next piece won’t take so long… WRONG.
“Are you sure its up there?” asked Brent.
“Positive.” I replied while thinking to myself, “or maybe it is just an enormous booger.”
Either way, if there was a chance it was food, in my mind, it had to come out. I began my search on Google to determine methods for removal of foreign objects from toddler noses and at which point I would need to rush my daughter to the E.R. for professional intervention. No chicken chunk aspiration in the Schwanbeck household. No sir… and thanks for scaring that thought into my head, Dr. Sears – thanks a lot, big guy.
I’m actually going to break the next hour and a half down into the methods used. I’ve included a picture here of some of the methods. And, don’t worry, the “method” on the far right was for me… afterwards. Ugh.
Method 1: The bulb syringe. Insert into affected nostril and attempt to suction out the object.
I tried this method a few times, all the while my precious baby Gray is SCREAMING. She has always hated the awful, blue bulb syringe, and the fact that there was a chunky chicken in her nose made it no different this time around. Meh. Next.
Method 2: The Mouth Breather (not pictured). This one came from a blogger – genius source of medical advice [insert emoji face riddled with sarcasm]. Close the unaffected nostril and use your mouth to blow into your child’ mouth to dislodge the object. “I am so glad we found this method because it works so well, blah blah blah.”
Brent and I gave it a go. Brent started, but couldn’t get a good seal and really only ended up making fart noises on our precious daughter’s face. Gray was unsure about all of this, but the fart noise made her nervously laugh. I gave it a go a few times: same result. I ended up stopping because I was laughing so hard. Fart jokes always get me. Method 2 may have moved the chicken chunk, but really its was just awkward. We did decide to keep Method 2 in the playbook, but moved on to something that was hopefully more effective.
“Hill, let’s just use some tweezers to try and get it out,” Brent suggested.
I adamantly answered with a “NO!”
No way was I letting sharp metal tweezer near my sweet, wriggly baby girl’s nose – especially not at my clumsy hands. Moving on.
(Trying Method 2 Again)
PPPPFFFFFFT.
(Method 2 Again)
“Did it move?”
(Now Method 1 Again)
“No. Dang it!”
Method 3: Gentle Saline. Spray saline into unaffected nostril until it streams out the opposite nostril, HOPEFULLY dislodging the object.
So… Toddlers don’t like it when you spray stuff up their nose. Period. End of Story. But, for some reason they do like sticking random crap up their nose. Yay. And, for those of you taking notes in the event of your own chicken chunk episode, this did not budge the chicken chunk.
(Method 2 Attempt)
More fart noises.
(Method 1)
Irritated toddler.
Brent suggested the tweezers again, but I asked that we try one more thing and then he could go to the store and buy a pair of safety or plastic tweezers.
Method 4: The Feather (not pictured). Remove feather from couch cushion stuffing and attempt to summon a sneeze by tickling the inside of your child’s nose.
Brent sat and watched me attempt this stunt with a look that can only be interpreted as “you are really so ridiculous – committed, but ridiculous.” Gray screamed and no sneeze emerged. Now I had a sweaty, red, crying toddler. I mean, who wouldn’t be fussy, or even furious after 30 minutes of parent-induced torture? Lord, please don’t let this scar her.
Since Method 4 was a failure, Brent headed to the store to find a better alternative than the sets of weapon-like Mr. Tweezermans we had at our house. Have you ever used that brand? They are hella-sharp. Just sayin’. I let the kids play and be distracted from the fact that we were not yet swimming (and likely wouldn’t at all), and that we were torturing one of them. Poor kids.
Ten minutes later Brent arrives with our next method…
Method 5: The First Aid Tweezers. [Medical professionals are likely cringing at this point, but fear not. We did not push it farther in, and used extreme care and my husbands EMT experience. Eeek] Pin your toddler down with 2 adults, while the one in the most advantaged position attempts to pull the object out with plastic tweezers.
If Gray wasn’t scarred at this point, she probably was after this little debacle. Oh, the horror of pinning down a sweaty, red, SCREAMING toddler while trying to pry a chuck of chicken out of her nose… We took a few small breaks in between “sessions” to allow our tortured toddler a break. We managed to pull out a few small bits of chicken, but nothing sizeable enough to feel like progress. To illustrate to awfulness of this chaotic method, I’m pretty sure we were at it for 30 minutes, on and off, and riddled with attempts at Method 2 – I was holding out for that one to work.
Method 6: The Reverse Mouth Breather (not pictured). Husband suggests you try to suck the object out of the affected nostril with your mouth. Desperately, you oblige.
Don’t judge me here people. I was DESPERATE! The only thing this yielded was mouth full of snot and a laughing husband. Don’t do it. Just don’t.
Method 7: The Sinus Rinse. Squirt a reasonably forceful stream of warm water into the unaffected nostril until it streams out the opposite nostril, HOPEFULLY dislodging the object.
This was a hold out method for us, but I am not sure why. I love my Sinus Rinse, and it regularly saves the day when I have allergies or a sinus infection, but I digress. Again, toddlers hate having stuff sprayed up their nose, but luckily for Gray, she didn’t have to endure this specific gag-inducing form of torture for long because that GIANT, snotty chicken chunk popped right out.
WHY IN THE HECK DIDN’T WE TRY THIS SOONER!?!?
Pictured below is the ENORMOUS piece of chicken that was lodged in my daughter’s nose. Oh. My. Goodness.
Rest assured, Gray is ok, chicken chunk is removed, and she is bathed and resting peacefully in her room. What isn’t ok, besides my sanity, is my house. Remember that we have another kid? Oh, yeah, Boone! During this 90-minute journey, he succeeded at pulling out all of the toys and rearranging most of our furniture (and not in a feng-shui manner). Well played, Booney Boy, since you didn't get to swim and had very little attention paid to you. Sorry sweet boy.
Here is a brief glimpse of the aftermath and Boone's handywork for ya.
Because this deserves more than a Facebook post... The One with the Chicken Chunks.
[DISCLAIMER: Not intended for those with weak stomachs – but its really not that bad]
I arrived home from work on a lovely spring day to find the kids in their swimsuits, ready for a swim at the gym after an early dinner. We were eating our dinner that my fantastic cook-of-a-husband prepared when I look over to discover Gray with finger in nose and a guilty-as-all-get-out look on her face. Here she is, in case you forgot how cute she was.
And then, the sneezing started. The massive sneezing fit, which was causing small bits of partially chewed chicken to be deployed all over her highchair tray, was only interrupted a few times by ferocious bouts of nose rubbing. Much to my dismay, after that ended I realized that Gray, in fact, had 2 pieces of chicken up her nose - one for each nostril because my baby girl likes to be a little socialistic with her toddler habits. In all fairness, I can't say for certain that she put the chicken up her nose, but it was definitely there.
The mommy-fretting began, and the sneezing continued. Frantically, I was asking Brent what we should do while trying to wipe my angry toddler’s nose, hoping to dislodge the chicken chunks. The early victory came about 2 minutes after said chicken chunks were discovered… the first piece came soaring out of Gray’s right nostril. I stood and stared with shock and relief as my husband quickly wiped it up and ran to the sink to dispose of the snotty piece of poultry. It was probably about the size of my pinky fingernail, which is pretty incredible considering how absolutely tiny my daughter is (including her nostrils).
That only took about 2 minutes, so hopefully the next piece won’t take so long… WRONG.
“Are you sure its up there?” asked Brent.
“Positive.” I replied while thinking to myself, “or maybe it is just an enormous booger.”
Either way, if there was a chance it was food, in my mind, it had to come out. I began my search on Google to determine methods for removal of foreign objects from toddler noses and at which point I would need to rush my daughter to the E.R. for professional intervention. No chicken chunk aspiration in the Schwanbeck household. No sir… and thanks for scaring that thought into my head, Dr. Sears – thanks a lot, big guy.
I’m actually going to break the next hour and a half down into the methods used. I’ve included a picture here of some of the methods. And, don’t worry, the “method” on the far right was for me… afterwards. Ugh.
Method 1: The bulb syringe. Insert into affected nostril and attempt to suction out the object.
I tried this method a few times, all the while my precious baby Gray is SCREAMING. She has always hated the awful, blue bulb syringe, and the fact that there was a chunky chicken in her nose made it no different this time around. Meh. Next.
Method 2: The Mouth Breather (not pictured). This one came from a blogger – genius source of medical advice [insert emoji face riddled with sarcasm]. Close the unaffected nostril and use your mouth to blow into your child’ mouth to dislodge the object. “I am so glad we found this method because it works so well, blah blah blah.”
Brent and I gave it a go. Brent started, but couldn’t get a good seal and really only ended up making fart noises on our precious daughter’s face. Gray was unsure about all of this, but the fart noise made her nervously laugh. I gave it a go a few times: same result. I ended up stopping because I was laughing so hard. Fart jokes always get me. Method 2 may have moved the chicken chunk, but really its was just awkward. We did decide to keep Method 2 in the playbook, but moved on to something that was hopefully more effective.
“Hill, let’s just use some tweezers to try and get it out,” Brent suggested.
I adamantly answered with a “NO!”
No way was I letting sharp metal tweezer near my sweet, wriggly baby girl’s nose – especially not at my clumsy hands. Moving on.
(Trying Method 2 Again)
PPPPFFFFFFT.
(Method 2 Again)
“Did it move?”
(Now Method 1 Again)
“No. Dang it!”
Method 3: Gentle Saline. Spray saline into unaffected nostril until it streams out the opposite nostril, HOPEFULLY dislodging the object.
So… Toddlers don’t like it when you spray stuff up their nose. Period. End of Story. But, for some reason they do like sticking random crap up their nose. Yay. And, for those of you taking notes in the event of your own chicken chunk episode, this did not budge the chicken chunk.
(Method 2 Attempt)
More fart noises.
(Method 1)
Irritated toddler.
Brent suggested the tweezers again, but I asked that we try one more thing and then he could go to the store and buy a pair of safety or plastic tweezers.
Method 4: The Feather (not pictured). Remove feather from couch cushion stuffing and attempt to summon a sneeze by tickling the inside of your child’s nose.
Brent sat and watched me attempt this stunt with a look that can only be interpreted as “you are really so ridiculous – committed, but ridiculous.” Gray screamed and no sneeze emerged. Now I had a sweaty, red, crying toddler. I mean, who wouldn’t be fussy, or even furious after 30 minutes of parent-induced torture? Lord, please don’t let this scar her.
Since Method 4 was a failure, Brent headed to the store to find a better alternative than the sets of weapon-like Mr. Tweezermans we had at our house. Have you ever used that brand? They are hella-sharp. Just sayin’. I let the kids play and be distracted from the fact that we were not yet swimming (and likely wouldn’t at all), and that we were torturing one of them. Poor kids.
Ten minutes later Brent arrives with our next method…
Method 5: The First Aid Tweezers. [Medical professionals are likely cringing at this point, but fear not. We did not push it farther in, and used extreme care and my husbands EMT experience. Eeek] Pin your toddler down with 2 adults, while the one in the most advantaged position attempts to pull the object out with plastic tweezers.
If Gray wasn’t scarred at this point, she probably was after this little debacle. Oh, the horror of pinning down a sweaty, red, SCREAMING toddler while trying to pry a chuck of chicken out of her nose… We took a few small breaks in between “sessions” to allow our tortured toddler a break. We managed to pull out a few small bits of chicken, but nothing sizeable enough to feel like progress. To illustrate to awfulness of this chaotic method, I’m pretty sure we were at it for 30 minutes, on and off, and riddled with attempts at Method 2 – I was holding out for that one to work.
Method 6: The Reverse Mouth Breather (not pictured). Husband suggests you try to suck the object out of the affected nostril with your mouth. Desperately, you oblige.
Don’t judge me here people. I was DESPERATE! The only thing this yielded was mouth full of snot and a laughing husband. Don’t do it. Just don’t.
Method 7: The Sinus Rinse. Squirt a reasonably forceful stream of warm water into the unaffected nostril until it streams out the opposite nostril, HOPEFULLY dislodging the object.
This was a hold out method for us, but I am not sure why. I love my Sinus Rinse, and it regularly saves the day when I have allergies or a sinus infection, but I digress. Again, toddlers hate having stuff sprayed up their nose, but luckily for Gray, she didn’t have to endure this specific gag-inducing form of torture for long because that GIANT, snotty chicken chunk popped right out.
WHY IN THE HECK DIDN’T WE TRY THIS SOONER!?!?
Pictured below is the ENORMOUS piece of chicken that was lodged in my daughter’s nose. Oh. My. Goodness.
Rest assured, Gray is ok, chicken chunk is removed, and she is bathed and resting peacefully in her room. What isn’t ok, besides my sanity, is my house. Remember that we have another kid? Oh, yeah, Boone! During this 90-minute journey, he succeeded at pulling out all of the toys and rearranging most of our furniture (and not in a feng-shui manner). Well played, Booney Boy, since you didn't get to swim and had very little attention paid to you. Sorry sweet boy.
Here is a brief glimpse of the aftermath and Boone's handywork for ya.
