“Happy are you sad? Wanna shoot your dad? I’ll do anything you want. It was the wrong way.” Sublime
Ah, where have I been? The stories I could tell. But nay. I’ll leave the past where it belongs. As many of us should do, but all too often, don’t.
I’ve been doing a lot of bike riding lately, even though my box truck incident nearly cut my life expectancy short. I have a new bike by the way. It’s exactly the same as the old one, only it hasn’t tried to feed me to a moving vehicle. I think we’ll get along great, this bike & I. The evil bike spell has apparently been shuttered over to my daughter’s bike, as she cannot seem to stay upright on hers – and to my ex-husband’s bike, as it fully devoured his leg today.
I must say, it was a humorous sight to see! Even witnessing the whole incident from a mere 5 or 6 feet, I’m not sure exactly how it happened, only this:
Our oldest son lives completely in his own little bubble, oblivious to the entire world surrounding him. More so than most 8 year olds. He tends to weave vicariously around the road, sidewalk, or bike path no matter who else is riding alongside or behind him. Dad’s attempt to miss his rear wheel quickly turned into a bike gobbling session, of which dad’s leg became the loser.
I swear, the bike ate his lower leg! It was a contortionist movement that left Jere on the ground in disbelief, as he thinks he is invincible & “King of all things – including bicycles!” I, always being in the mood for a good hearty laugh, did just that – giggled in delight. Until I saw the blood spot on Jere’s sock & the ashen look on his face.
Crap. I can see what’s coming next. The pleading eyes. The helpless, pity look. He was going to nurse this one all the way to the bank. Or at least to the emergency room, since the bank doesn’t really give a shit about a nickel sized superficial wound on a grown man’s ankle.
He was ready for an ambulance. I was ready to leave him @ the park for the vultures. Unfortunately, the kids had both witnessed the aftermath of his crash so I couldn’t just leave him there for the homeless to pick apart. Damn the bad luck.
You seriously would’ve thought this man’s leg had just been blown apart by a land mine. By talking to him, that is. By looking actually looking at the “wound,” you’d think he was a nut case for making such a big deal out a little nick & scrape. Well, the nut case part is debatable. I’m hoping that our two levels of nut case cancelled each other out in our children’s DNA – otherwise, their screwed. But so far so good!
I left him at the park with the kids & started on my way home to get his truck. We had rode our bikes nearly 5 miles & I was supposed to pedal my hefty ass back as fast as possible to retrieve his precious truck & take him in for medical care. Amputate just below the head! Oooops, did I saw that out loud? My bad.
I intended on dropping him off & taking the kids home. Sure, I’d go pick him up & drop him off at his house when he was done. Change my life with good intentions. You should’ve seen the look of horror he gave me when I told him I would drop him off. “You’re not going to stay with me?” It’s Labor Day weekend, beautiful weather, yet I have to baby-sit a grown man convinced his life is ending because his foot hurts.
I could’ve more easily dropped a 5 year old off in a Nazi camp. Amazing. The pre-teen kid in the emergency room line ahead of us had a screw sticking out of his knee. Let me repeat. A SCREW STICKING OUT OF HIS KNEE. Yes, I can see how that is an emergency. And here I stand next to Jere, in a wheelchair, barely a drop of blood running down his ankle, and he thinks he’s dying. The guy behind the desk had to ask twice what was wrong with him.
The nurse tried to wash his foot & he made such a big fuss over the pain that he was in that she said she would wait until the Dr came in to numb it. He nearly fell out of the bed when he realized the Dr would use a needle to administer the lidocaine. The nurse adeptly looked back at him and said, “how many tattoos do you have?” He skillfully responded, “Yes, but I was lit up when I got each of them!”
Next comes the Dr asking routine questions. Last Tetanus shot? Ever had surgery or stitches? Any staff infections? You are NOT going to believe this answer… Jere honestly looks at the Dr and says, “Yes, when I had my hand operated on several years ago, I had a staff infection. I tried to figure out where the smell was coming from & thought it was just my feet” – as the Dr is holding his bare foot to check it over.
You don’t know your hand is infected because your feet smell so bad? And being around him when he takes his shoes off – I can totally see where that discrepancy could come from.
After the Dr’s exam, he instructed me to wash the remaining dried blood off the bottom of Jere’s foot. Knowing how much he HATES to have his feet touched and how he was fully convinced that his foot hurt SOOO badly, I jumped at the opportunity. Should’ve let the nurse do it! He was too afraid to tell the Dr that I was being rough & simply glared at me while gritting his teeth. Wuss.
I also took the liberty to poke at the road rash on his knee. The intern who was in the room when I did so looked at me with eyes his wide & said I was cruel.
Oh honey, you have no idea
4 months ago