"Ow!"
I sighed as I put my wrist back down in its sling. I'd tried everything. I'd tried one hand, I'd tried both. I'd even tried sticking one side and then the other, and had ended up with half of it stuck to me and the other half dangerously close to sticking to my actual cut.
And nothing I did could get the wretched plaster on.
Taking the old one off had been easy enough: I'd managed to use one hand to gently peel away the hospital tape, and the pad came with it. But putting a new one on with my sprained wrist just wasn't working.
I had been at Elm Tree overnight due to knocking my head (the hospital had said I needed someone with me for the next twenty four hours), and so I decided to go and see if I could find someone to help me.
Mike had been on night shift (along with Dennis who insisted on staying), and so I went up to the staff bedroom to see if I could find him.
I knocked on the door, called his name, and then went in.
The room was empty.
Sighing, I went down to the office to see if I could find him.
Mike was in there, working on the computer. He looked up when he heard me come in.
"Are you alright?" he asked. "That cut should have a plaster on it, really."
"And I've been trying to put one on for the past ten minutes," I said. I gestured to my wrist and Mike looked at me with understanding.
"Come sit down," he said.
I took a seat in one of the office chairs and Mike got out the first aid box. He cut a plaster the right size before coming over to me.
"Hold still," he said gently. He peeled the plaster off its backing and gently put it over my cut, being very careful not to touch it or press too hard. He made sure it was smooth and wasn't going to peel off before leant back and gave me a smile, showing he was all done.
I gave him a smile as he picked up the backing ready to throw away. "Thanks."
Mike gave me a smile back. "No problem, Kiddo." He paused for a moment, getting up and going over to the bin. "How are you feeling?"
"Better than yesterday," I said.
"Good," said Mike, coming back over to where I was sitting.
Just then Dennis came past, poked his head in the office, and then continued towards the kitchen.
"I think that means it's time for breakfast," said Mike. He went to the door and then turned to look at me. "You coming?"
"Yeah, sorry," I said. In truth I'd been in my own world, thinking about how I was lucky to have Mike caring for me, just like Cam did when she was home, and had done for many years (the number of plasters she'd given me my first time being fostered far outweighing the number I'd need Mike to help me with whilst my cut healed). I'd missed it, and having Mike to help made me feel loved and cared for despite Cam's absence. "Just thinking about stuff."
"Like what?" asked Mike as we made our way down to the kitchen.
"Like how sometimes something as small as a plaster can mean the world."