I is for Iodine


With all the antibiotics, soothing balms and even treated Band Aids available to treat and disinfect kids’ cuts, there’s clearly a generational gap in the use (and smell) of iodine.  When I was in my tomboy stage, which only lasted 10 years, there wasn’t much I didn’t do that was bound to give me cuts and bruises: climbing tall trees, running through the woods behind our house, exploring a collapsing 150 year old hotel, riding my bike at breakneck speed, and playing all sorts of sports: field hockey, basketball, softball, ice hockey, swimming and tennis, plus reckless games of corner tag and some version of hill dill in the local pool.  Good god, where did I get that energy? I could use it now…

Most of the time I ignored the cuts, but occasionally my mother would catch me in passing, grab the iodine, swab the cut with soapy water and apply that element liberally to the affected area.  Memories linger. Whenever I smell iodine, I cringe, because it was always accompanied by a brilliant burning sensation that was worse than the cut.


2 thoughts on “I is for Iodine

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