OP brutal!

OP brutal!

At the other end of the line hangs a totally desperate something: “Mom, sob!”, It beeps me against.

Suddenly I realize who is obviously in need: This shaky, thin voice belongs to my elders and the ‘sob’ means it’s about life or death.

“Little, what happened?”

“Puchen, howl, plopped from the closet, sniff, and now he has only one eye left – Mamaa … !!”

It sounds like the SOS in anticipation of the imminent end of the world. After all, my daughter is only 27 years old and the fallen unhappy grave her teddy bear, who used to be mine.

“Mama,” it continues. “Please, help him, it’s so terrible, huh …?!”

“Nooch worse, the end of the world can not be!” I realize, of course, only quietly for me, I’m not a mean mother. I urge them to:

“Get in the car and bring me the little patient, did the eye find it again?”

“D .., that was downstairs cabinet gekullert I crawled under it and got it out with the crutch from the umbrella, sniff.”

“The umbrella!”, I correct in silence.

However, in view of the dramatic situation, I remain silent.

A short break, then she speaks a bit more spirited:

“Püchens second eye has blasted right at the sight!”

My daughter can not help her imagination. She has them from me.

Half an hour later it rings, my little daughter with the unfortunate Teddy in her arms is standing in front of me and strives for valiant tears, which she does remarkably well. Well, after all, more than thirty minutes have passed since the accident. Even Püchen does not seem so frustrated anymore. Perhaps at this moment only the joy of reunion with his ex-mistress prevails.

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His left eye flashes me mischievously. The other one can not do that. It is not there anymore, where it belongs. What I notice instead is the little backpack the guy carries on his back.

“Why is he bringing this with him?” I ask my daughter in amazement.

“There’s his right eye in there, at least that’s not how it’s lost!”

I just can not handle it!

As a precaution, I lead the two once in the kitchen and dig up the cappuccino and canned milk from the cupboard. The coffee for my little one and the cane milk for bad luck as a treat. Both sip with enthusiasm and both calm down slowly.

When the pulse of my daughter has returned to normal, I send her back home:

“But, Mama, you’ll let me know right away, if …!”

“Of course, child!”, I reply, push her out the door and close it again as fast as possible. Rolling my eyes to the ceiling, I blew on. Somehow the whole thing seems so crazy to me …

But just as fast as I am then serious again and find everything not funny at all, but extremely tragic. With a worried expression, I hurry back to the kitchen, where Puchen is now sitting in front of the fridge and licking his mouth with his tongue. He probably thinks that if he does that only long enough, then it will rinse rifle milk.

But stupidly, an operation is imminent and he should at least be reasonably sober. Explain this to a teddy bear! Since that would be relatively stupid, I spare myself efforts in this regard and prepare instead for the complicated procedure.

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The kitchen table moves to the operating table. Püchen disappears, as befits a decent operation during the Advent season, under huge, green Christmas sated, leaving only the empty eye socket free. However, this is unavoidable and extremely important, because where else should I, of course, implant the poor peep instrument? Under the hind paw it seemed out of place. After all, it’s not a corn.

Shaken, I stare for a moment at that sad hole there.

“Do not worry, we’ll have it soon!” I suggest to the bear, who is paralyzed by panic.

There is no answer. Has he already finished his life? Since there is no time to lose, I put on my gardening gloves (because of the sterility!) And in addition I put the largest of my thimbles on the index finger of the right hand. Teddy’s skin is finally thick and a leather needle does not just poke at the bottom.

I support. I forgot something essential … But what? Oh yes, right, nooch the bear is fully conscious.

“Nah, that ‘s not how it works!”, I tell myself.

“Sorry, bad luck, but that has to be …!” I whisper to the poor guy, get out and give him a peppered pipe.

His left eye looks surprised for a fraction of a second. Then his head tilts to the side and my patient is in the dreamland. My very affectionate way of narcotizing him has been amazing.

“I’m sure he’s gulping down canned milk while I’m struggling here!” I grumble.

With a few strong stitches, I tighten my eye again. I hope I have not condemned him with my action to trot squinting through life in the future. I gently lift the napkin a little. No, the operation was successful, the eye is right. It takes a load off my mind.

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The easing tension causes me to be irritated all of a sudden. For a brief moment the reality surprises me a second time and with it at the same time a shocking realization.

“I’ve just knocked down a piece of cloth with a saw blade filling!” I mumble in horror and begin to doubt my mind.

But before I can even explain myself ready for asylum, a pitying look at the crawler dove for reality. Will the bear get a painful sore?

Dutifully I call my daughter. Apparently, she was so worried about bad luck all the time not a millimeter far away from the phone. Bange she inquires:

“Mom, is everything okay?”

I assure her, her bear is fine. I feel through the phone, there is still a question in the air and right, there it comes:

“Mum, you do not hope to have him without a stupid … !!?” “Who do you think I am …?!”, I scoff.

Silence in the pipe. It stays so quiet that I assume it’s good that I do not know what she’s thinking.

In order to prevent any unjustified doubts about my character, I hurl it, perhaps a little too hard:

“Of course I glued one to him first!” Would I have formulated it differently?

Again there is silence. This time it’s an icy silence.

Then an uncontrolled, madly insane scream: “Well, Mamaa … !!

The call is over.