He doesn't mess around

Geez, The Man Upstairs will stop at nothing to make a point.

There Will Be Blood

I recently received this tale of woe from friend Thomas.  He does tend to be accident prone, but maintains a cheery outlook, as you will see.

Last night after supper I took Nuala (our dog) for a walk.  Then I decided to do a little work on the stone wall, which remains a work in progress.  I was wearing my Crocs (stupid, I know) but I was being careful.  Besides, changing into my sneakers would require me to walk all the way to the house.  Then I'd have to find some socks to put on . . . all too much trouble.

I was trying to shift the big rock I put at the end of the wall, as I realized a few weeks ago that it was out of place, which made the wall curve as it approached the driveway.  I was prying with my pry bar, slowly moving it about a foot toward the road.  All the time, I was being careful about my feet, of course.

Jane came home from a meeting at the Visitors Center as I was working and told me that my name would be mud if I ended up crushing a foot or something because of the Crocs.  I said, "I'm being careful."

Well, shortly after that I got the pry bar in a good place under the rock and was able to lift one end of it about 8".  I wanted to put something under the rock to keep it there when I removed the bar, but if I reached toward the rock to place the shim I lost my leverage (too close to the fulcrum, and all that simple machines stuff.)  So, I was pushing the bar down and trying to move a stone with my foot when BAM I lost my balance, fell over the bar, and did a face plant in the driveway.  I didn't even have time to put my hands out to break my fall.  As I landed I saw my glasses being knocked off my face and my first thought was "oh s**t, I broke my glasses."  Then my head really began to hurt, and I realized that I had other things to worry about.   I lay there for a while, moaning.

Then I got up and started walking toward the house (after moving the pry bar off the driveway) and as I walked I realized that blood was dripping from my face at a pretty good rate.  I called to Jane and asked her to get me some paper towels or something to blot the blood, and I went into the downstairs shower stall to rinse away the gravel, hemlock needles, and blood.  Jane took a look at my face and told me that I would need stitches, and when I looked in the mirror I saw a cut about 2" long just above my right eyebrow.

I grabbed some more paper towels and we headed to Dorset and the ER.  Just as we crossed the Dorset line my cut suddenly began to gush blood, and in no time my paper towel was soaked.  Jane got me some Kleenex, I stuffed them wherever I could to stop the blood flow, and we high-tailed it to the hospital.

When we got there Jane dropped me off at the Emergency Room door and went to park the car.  Right away a nurse came out with a wheel chair.  At first I thought it was for someone behind me, but given that my face, both hands, and most of my clothing was covered with blood I quickly realized that the chair was for me.  The nurse took me in and they registered me right away.  I couldn't really see because of all the Kleenex and paper towels, but I was able to get my wallet out of my pocket so I could show the receptionist my insurance card.  She handed it back to me and Jane had to wipe some blood off it before she could put it in her purse.

The other emergency room patients looked at me with a mixture of curiosity and shock.  I must have looked terrible.  But a nurse named Sid took me into a little room, cleaned me up a bit, and took a look at my cut.  He said it looked like I had nicked an artery, which explained why I had "a gusher."  By the way, he was middle aged and had about four earrings in his left ear.  Impressive!  It got me thinking again of having an ear pierced.

Sid put gauze on my cut and wrapped my head with a compression bandage.  He said that I would hate him later for doing that.  I asked him when I was going to get my fife.

Sid wheeled me back out to the waiting room, but presently a nurse came and took me deep into the hospital to the rooms where they sew people up.  By then I was really beginning understand why I might hate Sid, as my eyebrow was swelling and the pressure of the bandage was making my head hurt like crazy.  As we sat and waited in the examining room Jane very considerately read little tidbits from Time magazine to me, but after a while I had to tell her that my head hurt so much that I just needed to be quiet for a while.  We waited and waited and finally a doctor came in, looked me over, and said he wanted to have my head X-rayed to see if any of the bones in my eye socket were broken.  He also removed Sid's bandage and had a nurse put on a more lightweight one.  As soon as the compression bandage was unwound my head felt much better.

So we waited and waited until an X-ray technician came in and took me to the X-ray room.  She did three X-rays (while I wondered how many brain tumors that was going to cause.)  Then I went back to the room and waited and waited until the doctor came back.  He said my head looked OK (although he did ask my why there was a donkey in there asleep under a tree.)  He told me he had to sew another patient up first, then he get to me.

The other patient was a little kid in the next room, and as the doctor worked the kid began to yell and cry.  Not a good sign.  We waited and waited and waited and the doctor finally came back and proceeded to sew me up.  First he did about ten Novocain injections around the cut.  Why does something meant to kill pain have to hurt so much?  The doctor had to put in two deep stitches with dissolvable sutures.  Then he sewed the cut up with 11 stitches and told me that a nurse would be in to bandage the cut.  Then we could go home.

So, we waited and waited and waited and waited until the nurse finally came in, smeared some ointment over my stitches and put a bandage on me.  By then it was almost midnight, and Jane and I got up and left as quickly as we could.  On the way out we met Sid, who said, "Wow, you look much better!  I was worried about you!"

This morning I went in and cleaned up the shower stall.  I had to wash away some blood spots from several places.  Well, it wouldn't be an official DIY job if I didn't spill a little blood.

I have to go back to the ER Saturday to have the stitches removed.  Brilliant - more waiting!  I better take a book – or two – with me.  

Simon Goes To A Party

So last evening Simon went to a neighborhood party.  For a reason he couldn't pin down he was reluctant to go, and when he got there he drifted from one cluster of people to another, trying to engage in their conversation, but always feeling that he couldn't get in.  He'd begin to make a comment or tell a story then someone would interrupt and the flow of the conversation moved on.  It didn't take long for Simon to think that what he had to said was of no interest.  He was invited to join a sweaty game of boule décharge, but he was eating and declined.  As the evening went on Simon felt more and more disconnected from the activity around him.  He couldn't tell if he was being pissy, or if the party just sucked.  At last he walked across the lawn and went home.

He left without thanking the host and hostess.  Bad form, Simon.