Yesterday I learned a very important lesson about working with power tools. Not to panic, dear readers - I am still in possession of all my digits and limbs. However, I did make the astonishing discovery that wood chips being thrown by a power saw travel at very high velocities. I was holding one end of an 8ft board to stabilize it, while Michael was chipping away at the other end. I remember seeing chips flying my direction, so I turned my head. I felt something hit my forearm, so I looked down. (Note to self: don't look down - ever. It's always a BAD idea.) Much to my astonishment, there was a small hole, slightly larger than the diameter of a pencil, in my arm, about four inches in front of my elbow. (Note to movie makers: blood isn't always bright red. This was dark, muddy maroon.) So I'm standing there, blood dripping from my arm, trying to make sense of this hole in my arm - did it just nick me and fly away, or did it...no, let's not think about that. I'm squeamish, really. But it only took a second more to determine that yes, I had a wood fragment where wood fragments do not belong, and it wasn't going to pull out neatly like a splinter. So we wrapped my arm in a wet towel and off we went for what's becoming a far too frequent trip for my tastes to the emergency room. Vanderbilt was chaos central as usual. I'd tell you all about my fellow patients, but that would violate HIPAA. They took about an hour to get me to a room, ten minutes to try x-raying to see if they could determine the size of the splinter, five minutes to give me a tetanus shot and to pump the area of the wound with saline and lidocaine, a couple of minutes of probing with the forceps in hopes of avoiding the scapel, then twenty minutes to make a careful incision and remove the offending piece of wood and then stitch the incision closed with two perfect stitches. They left the original wound open to allow for any drainage, but they're hopeful that they got it all. I'm hopeful too. My arm hurts like hell, typing this was torture, but if I don't use it the muscles will stiffen. I took today off. I deserve it.
I've never been good with expressing emotions. I always felt that emotions were a sign of weakness - part of being raised as my father's "son", I suppose. Lately I'm having a hard time bottling up those things that bubble up when people start flinging arrows and stones. Some I deserve. Others, less so. Innocent comments get taken out of context and used to further some cause. I make a genuine post about an overwhelming feeling I have, and someone turns it into an accusation, based on some sort of internet statistic that proves I've posted in response to something else. Frankly, I don't see the connection. I get angry more often than I used to, but I often feel like I've been kicked in the gut too. I'm not accustomed to that one. It usually brings tears. Intended kindnesses are perceived as attempts to control. And this post will be labeled as an attempt to send someone on a guilt trip - but hey - if the shoe fits, baby, wear it out.
Comments