By month six, the blockage had a name: nasolacrimal duct obstruction. I called it the dam. I spent hours in the rocking chair, following the specialist’s instructions. My thumb would find the bony bridge of her nose, just beside that weeping, matted eye, and I would press. Firm. Precise. A rolling motion downward, as if coaxing a marble through a straw. The Crigler massage. Every morning, every nap, every night.
That was the winter of the eye goop. The winter I became a monster of mechanics. I’d heat compresses in the microwave until they were almost too hot to touch, then press them to her closed lid, watching the dried mucus soften and liquefy. I’d hold her arms down with one elbow while my other hand worked the massage, my thumb chafing raw. She learned to hate my touch. She’d turn her face away, press her cheek into the mattress, hide the offending eye. how do you unblock a tear duct
She rolls them. Both of them. Freely, easily, wetly. By month six, the blockage had a name:
The tears lasted a week. Then the crust returned. Thicker than before. The duct had scarred closed, more stubborn than ever. My thumb would find the bony bridge of