You know when you get hurt and you want to drop to the floor and roll around in pain and whimper or even cry?
You can’t though, because there are people around.
People you didn’t make babies with, or they didn’t make you or you didn’t make them. It is a very small pool of people you can show the true emotion of a cringe worthy injury you have endured.
I have had my share of these moments, both with an audience and with an audience of strangers.
Today, I had two of these awesome moments.
One wasn’t enough.
This is what I deserve after deciding to lay some Tennessee field stones in the grass around the patio.
I head on over to a landscape hardscape shop, (over-priced rocks that someone probably paid them to get out of their yard.) They have the rocks bundled by weight. I am trying to appear smarter than the boxes of rocks I am looking into (trying to figure out why a box of rocks would cost $450) when I stepped closer to the bundle.
The owner of the landscape store is the most energetic, creative, tiny little Asian woman and she has a puppy that looks just like my baby girl in the Suburban. She is chattering along about the thickness after I had mentioned the commercial lawn mowers that would be crushing the rocks weekly.
When I felt the front of my thigh being ripped into. I instinctually jerked back to see the wire that was tying the rock up, come out of a new hole in my jeans.
The front of my thigh.
Every muscle tightening.
Be cool. Be cool.
It’s just a hole and a scratch, I am sure.
She looks down and says, “Oh yeah, I got scratched today too.”
I see nothing on her finger.
I saw nothing that she was pointing at, with her finger.
By now I am pretty sure my femoral artery was fish hooked and I am bleeding out all over and on the inside.
Should I write a note on my arm to save the medical examiner time?
“Femoral artery severed at rock shop by piece of wire”
I put my head down and squint listen to the owner and I am pursing my lips like I am thinking really hard.
I have no idea what she is saying.
I can’t see under my jeans. Why is the hole in my jeans so small and the pain so big?
Using both hands to apply pressure like my life depended on it.
It did depend on it because from the stomach flips and ears doing that wrrerooooorrrr thing, I was dying right here, conveniently at a rock store and no where near the HomeGoods where I have instructed the boys to spread my ashes.
They do conveniently have the most charming fireplace.
I kept walking. I could see blood seeping through my jeans. The only way to look, is to take my jeans off. Why must everything terrible have to end with me naked? [Another Awesome Story Here]
I order two pallets of thick and heavy stone.
Come on. I am tough. I finished that retail transaction. Cha-ching!
I bring home with me four rather large rocks I am going to use in a short wall. Like the size of the “keystone” rock above the fireplace opening.
In our driveway I pull up to the Suburban with our golf cart so I can drive them around to the back of the house, two at a time.
The rocks shift.
The sons-a-biaaatches shifted and imploded my thumb.
I was raised by my mom who invented several curse combinations. [You can do that when you are that FABULOUS. Story here.]
I can pull out any of her famous phrases, add a syllable, throw in a few religious icons and social taboos and you will feel so dirty hearing them you will just pity me for being raised on the docks by a bunch of sailors.
So I did THAT in my southern country club neighborhood in my front yard…but behind a holly.
I am sure anyone outside, on my block heard…and I still needed to go cry!
Must cry! My thumb feels like it is trying to disconnect itself from my hand.
What did I do Karma? What did I do? I was joking when I told the kids they should thank “the dishes” and it is because of dishes they exist. My mom said it to me too! OMG…my mom is dead. I am sorry Karma. Just help me get inside so I can cry this out. [Things every mom says or just mine? Story here.]
I “Platoon” crawl into my house
I’m inside with cold water running on my thumb.
OMG! Why am I so hot? Start taking off my clothes in the kitchen.
You know how you hear about people that strip naked before dying in the cold from hypothermia?
Doctors and scientists try to understand why.
I know why.
- They smashed their thumb
- stripped naked
- and froze to death
I am going to throw up.
Run to bathroom in my underwear.
Thinking about just chopping it off. Losing it couldn’t hurt any worse than this does.
Flash forward about ten minutes and I remember to look down at my leg and see what exactly happened at the store that caused so much pain.
Yeah, that is a bruise where the wire went into my leg and bruised the back of the side of my thigh.
Did some quick math and remembered my last Tetanus shot was about eight years ago.
It was the last time I re-caulked a shower.
I laid there, in my underwear, thinking about how often things end up like this.
Injured, in my underwear, and wondering how I am going to finish this project.
The rocks will get delivered in a week.
Anyone want to come and help a clumsy, big baby with a bad leg and thumb?
Here I am thinking about the rocks.
“You know you can hire people to do this mom? Dad prefers you do. Please try to not crush me next week. If you do it’s ok. I will like it.” – Lilly-Girl the Perfect Australian Labradoodle (mutt)
Two pallets of thick fieldstone people!
I was using some things in the yard to get an idea of scale. My Lilly-Girl always thinks her mom is a genius, (or pities her poor stupid owner.)
The clumsy handy-girl.
Be happy this project doesn’t require a blowtorch because I can do that too. [That story here and it includes one of my favorites about the time my dad drank my sea-monkeys]