A Very, Very Long Week
Well, I had been planning to post the rant about playgrounds, mommies, and daddies that I've been wanting to deliver, but intervening events have forced me to postpone my diatribe yet again. On the one hand, it's probably a good thing because I'm sure to get angry comments whenever I do get around to posting it. On the other hand, any comments at all would be welcomed as it would mean that I have readers which would be a refreshing change.
In any event, I now present the reason for my recent quietness. (Note: the squeamish should probably stop reading here and now and just wait for my next post. Consider yourself warned). Last Monday morning, just after I finished feeding Ethan breakfast, I decided that slamming my finger in a cabinet door might be an interesting experience. Not one to do things halfway, I placed my hand on top of the door right near the hinge (what better way to get the full force of the door?), put all of my weight on that hand as I bent down to retrieve whatever it was that I needed, and then proceeded to slam the door shut. Needless to say, the experiment was pretty much a complete failure as it ended up being extraordinarily painful. And bloody. Very, very bloody. "Why would it be bloody?", you ask. Well, it was bloody because I had actually managed to pull the nail up out of my fingertip, leaving a quarter-inch of bare, bloody skin between the base of my nail (well, technically, the base of where my nail was now) and the cuticle. Hence the blood.
At this point, I feel compelled to give Ethan some well-deserved accolades. When I had finished feeding him, I had thrown the customary handful of Cheerios his way which usually gives me the five minutes I need to clean up. At which time I proceeded with my little experiment. Not surprisingly, I spent the next ten minutes (probably more): trying to call my wife and have her turn around and stay home from work (her cell-phone was turned off), calling my mother-in-law, an R.N., for advice, and lots of time bleeding, wrapping the finger in a gauze pad, tape, and more gauze, and then cleaning up all of the blood which I had lost prior to the gauze, etc. Throughout this entire time, Ethan just sat there watching me and munching away on his Cheerios. What a trooper! (Not to mention the fact that the box of Cheerios paid for itself right then and there).
Long story short, I eventually made my way to the doctor (with Ethan, of course, which is always a pleasure. Don't get me wrong....he's an amazingly even-tempered child. But no one likes the doctor's office). He proceeded to tell me that I needed to see a surgeon immediately. Given that it was after 3:00 and Ethan was already overdue to be changed, fed, and put down for his nap, that was simply not an option. We finally agreed that I could see the surgeon tomorrow, when I could get my mother-in-law to cover for me (given that this is somewhat akin to telling a wolf he can have all the chickens he wants, it was fairly easy to set up). The surgeon proceeds to tell me the nail has to be taken off (ooo...gross), he thinks it will grow back in about three months, and "Oh, by the way, you fractured it."
All of this is in addition to the fact that I pulled a tendon in my left arm several weeks ago (this is much more painful than it sounds). I now have a right index finger that I can't use at all (and I'm very right-handed), and a left arm that is rapidly getting worse as I need to do more and more things with it in order to accomodate my right hand.
Oh, I forgot to mention. I'm not permitted to allow the bandage on my index finger to get wet under any circumstances. I defy you to change a poopy diaper and then wash your hands in even a vaguely appropriate manner that would allow you to feed your son lunch, and do so without getting your index finger at least slightly wet.
I think all of this gives me some slack in the posting department. Permalink
In any event, I now present the reason for my recent quietness. (Note: the squeamish should probably stop reading here and now and just wait for my next post. Consider yourself warned). Last Monday morning, just after I finished feeding Ethan breakfast, I decided that slamming my finger in a cabinet door might be an interesting experience. Not one to do things halfway, I placed my hand on top of the door right near the hinge (what better way to get the full force of the door?), put all of my weight on that hand as I bent down to retrieve whatever it was that I needed, and then proceeded to slam the door shut. Needless to say, the experiment was pretty much a complete failure as it ended up being extraordinarily painful. And bloody. Very, very bloody. "Why would it be bloody?", you ask. Well, it was bloody because I had actually managed to pull the nail up out of my fingertip, leaving a quarter-inch of bare, bloody skin between the base of my nail (well, technically, the base of where my nail was now) and the cuticle. Hence the blood.
At this point, I feel compelled to give Ethan some well-deserved accolades. When I had finished feeding him, I had thrown the customary handful of Cheerios his way which usually gives me the five minutes I need to clean up. At which time I proceeded with my little experiment. Not surprisingly, I spent the next ten minutes (probably more): trying to call my wife and have her turn around and stay home from work (her cell-phone was turned off), calling my mother-in-law, an R.N., for advice, and lots of time bleeding, wrapping the finger in a gauze pad, tape, and more gauze, and then cleaning up all of the blood which I had lost prior to the gauze, etc. Throughout this entire time, Ethan just sat there watching me and munching away on his Cheerios. What a trooper! (Not to mention the fact that the box of Cheerios paid for itself right then and there).
Long story short, I eventually made my way to the doctor (with Ethan, of course, which is always a pleasure. Don't get me wrong....he's an amazingly even-tempered child. But no one likes the doctor's office). He proceeded to tell me that I needed to see a surgeon immediately. Given that it was after 3:00 and Ethan was already overdue to be changed, fed, and put down for his nap, that was simply not an option. We finally agreed that I could see the surgeon tomorrow, when I could get my mother-in-law to cover for me (given that this is somewhat akin to telling a wolf he can have all the chickens he wants, it was fairly easy to set up). The surgeon proceeds to tell me the nail has to be taken off (ooo...gross), he thinks it will grow back in about three months, and "Oh, by the way, you fractured it."
All of this is in addition to the fact that I pulled a tendon in my left arm several weeks ago (this is much more painful than it sounds). I now have a right index finger that I can't use at all (and I'm very right-handed), and a left arm that is rapidly getting worse as I need to do more and more things with it in order to accomodate my right hand.
Oh, I forgot to mention. I'm not permitted to allow the bandage on my index finger to get wet under any circumstances. I defy you to change a poopy diaper and then wash your hands in even a vaguely appropriate manner that would allow you to feed your son lunch, and do so without getting your index finger at least slightly wet.
I think all of this gives me some slack in the posting department. Permalink
posted by Rob | 7:46 PM
1 Comments:
I once had the 18 month old son in the exam room with me when I got an allergy shot.
The nurse started to give me the needle in the hip and the boy screamed bloody murder from across the room. I jumped, the nurse jumped, the needle went in and went straight to bone.
Worst shot I ever got.
And the last time I went for a shot with a kid in tow.
Post a Comment
Links to this post:
Create a Link
<< Home