Wednesday, 7 November 2012

The Walking Talking Accident... a.k.a. "Me"

    For as long as I can remember I have been accident prone, I have come to accept that.  As a child (and teen) I would fall down the stairs on at least a daily basis.  It got so that my mother would only come running if she did not hear me crying.  I once went picking wild raspberries only to stand in a bees nest (I now have an allergy to bee stings).  Another time, I was playing in our barn and jumped down from the grainery (don't even ask why I thought that it would be a good idea to jump three feet to the ground off of the ladder, I was a stupid kid).  Unknown to me there was a "huge spike" sticking out of wood under me (o.k. maybe it just seemed "huge", it was however very large.  One of the barn nails that they used in the early nineteen hundreds when our barn was built).  I jumped on the spike, and it hit the bone and came out the other side, like a boomerang lodged in my foot.  I still feel that one on rainy days.  I told you about my biking accident.  In university some friends and I went to the movies at the Eaton's Centre.  My best friend dared me to a race up the down escalator.  There was not one else in the mall, and I don't back down from a dare.  I was in the lead, a good lead, when I fell.  I punctured my knee, putting a hole through my best jeans.  So when we got home, everyone in the dorm had been drinking, and no one was able to take me to the hospital.  When I woke up the next morning I could not bare weight on that leg, oh and it was super infected.  I was on crutches for weeks, and then had weeks of physiotherapy (the upside was that I began to date the really cute physiotherapist).  Another time I was using a box cutter to cut a box, and sliced open my leg, more stitches.  As an adult I am certainly not immune to accidents.  Once I stood on a plastic lawn chair in bare feet (like I'm ever not in bare feet), and went right through the chair.  That took a good many stitches to close up.  Not that long ago Christopher and I were carrying the new metal door for our side door from the basement.  I don't know how I did it, but I got my finger stuck in the hole that the door handle fits into.  I casually told Christopher that we needed to work a little faster, because I needed to run up to the doctors for stitches, and hoped that the blood would not stain the new metal door.  I could see bone on that one.  Those are but a few of the more memorable accidents.  I don't think that I need to continue, but sadly I could.  Sufficed to say, you can feel very safe when you are with me... because if something bad is going to happen, it will happen to me.   My sister will often tell me "Wow, you haven't had stitches, a broken bone or surgery yet this year, are you worried?"  I really should be worried, because it honestly is at least once a year that I have a broken bone, stitches or surgery, some girls just have all the fun.

    Yesterday I renewed my Cosco membership.  They have so many nifty things for sale there.  I saw these beautiful brightly coloured knives, for only $20.00.  My knives at home stink.  You can barely cut butter with them.  I put those little beauties into my cart.  I fantasized about cutting a tomato that did not explode with the effort needed to cut through it.  I could see myself creating culinary miracles, all because of these beautiful new knives.

    When  I got home Christopher was out in the back yard playing with the dog, or was that building the new shed?  I began to put away all of my new and wonderful groceries.  As I was about to open up my knives, Christopher came in.  "Look at my new beautiful knives." "hummm huh" he muttered.  That is Christophereeze for "I don't really care, but I know that if I don't make some kind of a sound she will shriek at me like a banshee, so I had better give her something."  He walked into the bathroom.  I was excitedly trying to figure out how to liberate my knives from their difficult packaging.  They had shrink wrapped them onto cardboard.  To show how nice they were, they shrink wrapped them with the covers behind the knives.  I had excitedly made contact with the bright yellow paring knife, and then it happened... "OH  F*&K!"  I screamed (luckily only Rowan was home, the girls were at Mom and Dad's.  Rowan was outside playing and thankfully did not hear his Mother trying to shame truckers and the sailers).  Without even coming into to look, Christopher shouts out "I'll bring Rowan in and we'll run you up to the doctors".  He was right, that thumb would not stop bleeding.  I wrapped a tea towel around it and got dressed.  My thumb really hurt, but the whole time I was in hysterical laughter, Only I could dice my finger while trying to remove a knife from the package.
    Lisa at the doctor's office (she is the nicest nurse on earth) just shook her head at me when I explained what I had done.  Turns out it did not need stitched, but she Sterri Stripped it, and put a big pressure bandage on it for me.  I was told to keep it dry and elevated, keeping pressure on it.  This part of it suited me fine, because that meant that Christopher had to do all of my less desirable jobs.  My thumb hurt, but it had it's advantages after all.

     By the way Glenda, this blog's for you. 

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