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There I was sitting in the weekly office meeting when Ireceived that dreadful phone call from my child’s school. Immediately I excusedmyself, pushed back my chair, and made it out the meeting room door just intime to answer the call before it went to voicemail. On the other line I wasgreeted by the school nurse, Mrs. Wyatt she said, we are doing lice screeningstoday and we found lice on your daughter Samantha. I gasped as the word licerepeated itself within my head. My heartbegan pounding, and a sick feeling began to rise from the bottom of my stomach,I fumbled for my words and asked, “What am I suppose to do? We need you to pickSamantha up since we cannot send her back to the classroom, she brieflyexplained. I assured her, “I will be right there”.

In that moment I felt disgusted, embarrassed, and simply put,like a terrible mother. How could I let this happen to my little girl? Samanthaand I went straight to the drug store from school and I purchased a liceshampoo. Then we rushed home, I educated myself as fast as I could on how touse the shampoo and began washing her hair. In a frantic frenzy my daughtershair was sectioned and combed inch by inch to get rid of these horrible bugs. Samantha took small breaks in between the fourhour combing session; after all I couldn’t expect her to sit there patiently asI battled endlessly to remove eggs that I could barely even see from her hair.During those breaks I scoured our home, stripped the sheets, threw away thebrushes, and vacuumed every crevice. At the end of the night I had followed allof the directions exactly, cleaned the house, treated my daughter’s hair, and combedtirelessly. I was certain, I had gotten rid of every bug and egg that I couldfind. How could anything live through what all that I have done tonight?

The next morning I was anxiously watching as the schoolnurse inspected my daughter’s hair, pulling parts this way and that with twosmall wooden sticks. The bright light alongside her illuminated my daughtershead. Then she stopped, looked up at me and reluctantly said, “I’m sorry Mrs.Wyatt, I still see nits in her hair”. I stood up and said, “That’s impossible”.Then she showed me the proof, Samantha’s hair was decorated like a Christmastree. Instead of ornaments, there were eggs adorned all throughout her hair.How could I have missed so many?

On the car ride back home, before explaining to my boss thatI would need another day, I called my husband and sobbed. In the backseat,Samantha complained about how she wanted to go to school. Instead we went tothe yogurt shop, to calm both of us down. After returning home, feeling tiredand overwhelmed, I put on Sponge Bob for Samantha, and sat down in front of thecomputer. The search began, I started to find information that left me confused.Articles about home remedies and horror stories posted by people who have beenunable to get rid of lice for months, even years. This cannot happen to us, Ihave to work, Samantha has to get back in school, fear immediately set in.

Then I found an answer, I stumbled upon a company thattreats lice professionally. In my relief I grabbed the phone and called. The phonerang as I anticipate hearing a voice pick up on the other line, “Nit Picky LiceRemoval, How can I help you?” a woman said.

Eagerly I explained our situation and made an appointmentfor a lice specialist to come to my home and treat Samantha for that evening. CallingNit Picky was the best decision that I could have made. The moment the licelady stepped through my door, relief flushed through my body. The service wasvery professional and the specialist assured me that Samantha would be able toget back in school the next day.

The next morning I was sitting in the school nurses officeagain while she inspected my daughter’s hair with her bright light and woodensticks. This time she looked up at me and smiled, Samantha is clear to go backto class today. “How did you do it?” she inquired. Then I explained that Nit Picky helped us,and how lice does not need to be a struggle.