I climbed into bed, exhausted from the past few days, and savoring the feel of my own bed. My husband called from the other room, “I think I have a thorn in my finger. Where’s the tweezers?” He had been trimming the knockout rose bushes earlier in the day and he’d had gloves on the whole time.
The next thing I know he is at my bedside with tweezers and a magnifying glass. I hold the magnifying glass, while my husband attempts to extract the intruder. But the minuscule sliver of a thorn avoids the tweezers.
I take over tweezers duty. With my finger, I gently move it back and forth to locate the tip of the thorn. I can feel it, I can’t see it. I squeeze the skin to try to make it move forward. I check with my finger, gently moving over the wounded finger. Yes, it is out a little more. The tweezers move in to pluck. Success! Immediately he feels a difference in his finger.
It’s amazing how something so thin and small can cause so much pain.