Thursday, September 27, 2012


I would like to show you a photograph of a beautiful pony. Gather the children and scroll down to experience the wonderment that is shortly to befall you.


Yep almost there.

Here it is.

Not quite. It’s still a bit lower.

Ok, Now!


That's the enormous gaping gash sliced into my leg compliments of half a shower wall and the metal lath backing employed by builders in the 1960s. I was demolishing my bathroom wearing shorts.

That was a mistake.

I know that now. At the time, it didn't feel like a mistake to be wearing shorts; it felt cool and refreshing. There are many things in life that start that way and end up in ruin, and, as near as I can figure, life is about figuring out what those things are just a little bit too late.

At some point in the demolition, I channeled my Grandfather's spirit and achieved furious liftoff and managed to pull the entire shower wall down on myself, which was actually part of my broader plan. Unfortunately, I neglected to consider the finest points of that plan, such as the various implications of sharp metal pieces hurtling at me backed by several hundred pounds of mortar and such.

Under the circumstances, most people would have called 911. I called Tyler, who called Dad. They followed the blood trail into the bathroom where they found me splayed out on the floor trying my best to run cool water through my shin muscle and assess my situation  (which is the first step to take if you forget who or what you are, or cut yourself badly).

I wanted Dad to superglue it. He anticipated that and had superglue in his pocket. He took one look at the size of the gash and said “no”.

Me: But its bleeding pretty bad and all pooched out. Glue it on up.

Dad: Sorry Charlie. This one is too bad. To the hospital with you.

Me: I don’t want to PAY for someone to sew up my leg. I’m already hurt. That’s bad. Hurt and out $300 is worse. Why do you want me to be worse?

Dad: Tyler, take care of this please.

We headed to the “urgent care” center down the road at 10:30PM on a Thursday night. Guess when they close? Before 10:30 PM; which is ridiculous because only about 2% of every bad thing that happens actually happens before 9:00PM. They should call it the "If It's After Dinner We Don't Care" Center.

I talked Tyler into going in to CVS and buying butterfly bandages instead of driving all the way to Northside Hospital. It was one of my better sales jobs.

I hobbled in with her hoping to show the pharmacist and any passers-by my gaping wound and, somewhere around aisle 2, became separated from my medic. I tried to show my leg to someone between my aisle and the aisle Tyler's head was on, but when I approached the woman she ran off like a rabbit. I mean: clear out of the store. 

I am finally convinced America is in a state of social decline. In my opinion, if you can't say "hey lady come look at this" to a stranger in a drugstore and at least make a new friend - you've definitely slid into a state of social decay.

I finally caught up to Tylerpants on aisle 3, hobbling and moaning. She was not on the "bandages" aisle or even on the very interesting "contraception" aisle; which I could have understood might be tantalizing regardless of the backdrop of pain and agony coursing through a close family member only a few aisles away. She was on the hair products aisle. 

Me: I am pumping blood in a public building. What are you doing?
Tyler: Getting hairgel.
Me: Hairgel? What? Why?
Tyler: We’re out.
Me. My hair isn't bleeding. This isn't a hair emergency. My leg is bleeding. I can see grainy fat and meat down in there.
Tyler: I know, but we’re here. So I thought I’d get some.
Me: (holding my leg up by the knee) You see my leg, right?
Tyler: Don’t be so dramatic. I’m getting the bandages now. Go out to the car before somebody sees you.

She came outside a few minutes later and plunked a bag full of emergency supplies (and hairgel) down on the floor at my feet. It rattled. I looked inside and found a box of bulk chewing gum.

Me: After I left - you went to the candy aisle and got Wintergreen gum.
Tyler: Yeah. You want some? This kind is really good. 
Me: No, I mean, you know how we talked about the hairgel and all. And here I am bleeding and so forth, and right this minute I can see stuff down in my leg meat that normally is hidden from view by skin that should be together-skin, not apart-skin: but you had time to go get wintergreen gum?

Tyler: Don’t you like wintergreen? They were out of peppermint.

Somehow I feel like she was missing the point.


Maggie said...

Your right foot in the bottom picture seriously looks EXACTLY like Grandad's. Scary. How's that scar coming along?

Kelly said...

I told my eight year old little boy that I wanted to show him a picture of a pony, he then looked at me and said, "I don't wanna see a picture of a pony!" I then said, "well, look at this then (showing him your cut) and he says, "WOW, how did they DO THAT!?"

I never imagined I would one day be sitting down at the kitchen table, trying to impress my little boy by showing him gory images of someone's slaughtered up leg. you would almost never know that I grew up being such a girlie girl.

Psshh...boys. ;)

Jennifer said...

That is quite a wound! I hope that you'll be a little more careful with your next demolition project. Pants might be a good idea, maybe even a padded suit. :)