Because one day after her injury we were talking with her surgeon in his office, and he casually threw out that I needed to start using a vibrator on her arm to break up the scar tissue. Because I couldn’t believe he so casually was talking about sex toys with me. Because my face turned the color of deep scarlet, and I had to nod and pretend like this was a totally normal thing to prescribe eight-year-old patients to do. Because I went out and got a small pink vibrator for this specific purpose. Because she was eight and loved all things princess and pink. Because we used it on her forearm every day in an attempt to break up the solid scar tissue, and I never once let on that it seemed like an odd part of the therapy routine. Because she grew to think it was fun as it seemed like a cool, pink toy that no one else could play with. Because I kept it hidden when we weren’t doing therapy exercises. Because heaven forbid a friend came over and she wanted to show them her new toy. Because can you imagine if everyone in the neighborhood started talking about my eight-year-old daughter and her vibrator? Because when we showed up to our next occupational therapy appointment the therapist had a very different looking “vibrator”. Because hers was obviously a medical device…and mine obviously was not! Because kids are so innocently naïve and before I could stop her, Aubrey was telling the therapist all about her vibrator. Because she so clearly described a sex toy to the therapist that it took all my inner strength to sit there expressionless through it all. Because I avoided all eye contact as her therapist said, “Wow, that sounds like a really cool one!” Because how could she not be full on judging me for this obvious misstep? Because someone really needed to inform that surgeon that vibrator infers something totally different than medical massager. Because I sat in the car after therapy and ordered a medical massager, which looks far more “medical” than a pink sex toy. Because I immediately threw away the vibrator and hoped she’d never ask about it. Because I was suddenly fearful that I had only further traumatized my child. Because now I know that medical massagers are what you are supposed to use to break up scar tissue. Because I knew I could never look her therapist in the eyes again without dying laughing. Because her new therapist swooped in and pushed her to fight for the use of her hand. Because he saved her hand in a lot of ways. Because at a time that God seemed to be in hiding, He was there after all, orchestrating things in His clever way.
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