The baby has two splinters in her supple palm. Already, her inflammatory cells have surged into action, and there are angry circles rising around each brown-black shard. She whines miserably, trying to ball her injured appendage into a fist while fending off adults with her good hand.
You kneel before her as she sits in her father's lap, armed with Lilliputian tweezers from a pocket Swiss Army knife. The kitchen: your clinic.
“Hold her tightly,” you order.