Come In Rampart

Day 32
Mood: relaxed

Just got back from spending five hours in the ER. Isn't that so EXACTLY how you like to spend your Saturday? Oh yeah, me too. We're all fine at Mamma's house. Just a few blood stains and some stitches to show for our afternoon.

I was chasing after Mr. 2 this afternoon trying to defuse the temper tantrum he had kicked up when Shakey busted in through the door, shoved a plastic bag at me and hunched over in pain. My initial thought was that he had been kicked in the groin the way he was all bent over, but then he took off his hat to reveal a rather large blood stain setting in.

Got Shakey to sit down and apply pressure to his head, got Mr. 2 changed, lined up care for Misters 4 & 2 and had notes drafted for both the back and front door directing Mr. 10 to a neighbor's. In no time, we were in the ER and I even had a book, a drink and a salad (the contents of the bag Shakey handed me before the pain set in)--ready to wait for HOURS.

Shakey had quite a nasty gash in his head. He made the vain attempt to suggest that he didn't need stitches--a determination he arrived at by the fact that he wasn't gushing blood any more--but I insisted. I know, I'm a real killjoy. If he ever goes bald later in life, maybe he'll thank me for the lack of a giant worm-like scar on his noggin (though if he had one he could get it tattooed to look like a worm with eyes and stuff and freak out the grandkids--darn maybe the stitches were a hasty decision).

So I've gotten this far regaling you with the story of my afternoon without sharing the cause of the wound. And here's where the whole "how much do you share in your blog?" thing really comes into play. Some women--who I respect immensely--protect their husband's foibles, never tease them or tell embarrassing stories about them to their friends. Unfortunately for Shakey, I am not one of those women.

You know how he cut his head? By closing the back gate of our SUV on it. Yes, my husband is SO STRONG that he managed to close the door so hard that it split open his head through a wool baseball hat. (I had to put that strong thing in there so he wouldn't feel bad about me telling you that he hit himself in the head with a door that he was closing).

Aren't you just cringing with embarrassment for him now? I am too. Really I am. But HOW could I not blog about it?!

I am so not getting those diamond earrings for Christmas now.