When #1 son tried to repair Gamey the other day after our 10-second power outage, he lost a chunk of finger. He did not know this until he saw blood pouring out of the hole. It was not a slice, but a gouge. It's small. But the boy can't stand the sight of blood, expecially his own. You would have thought I'd sent him to slaughter a hog and bring back the jowls for supper. He had blood smeared on his shorts. He sopped blood with several paper towels. Finally, I told him to squeeze the darn thing shut, and put his hand above his head. Which he did. I applied a generic Band Aid with some generic triple antibiotic ointment smeared upon it. That thing still bled through a bit, but he thought it was better. He got in the pool with it, and it opened up again, but sealed itself off. We bandaged it again, and by morning, he said it was really better.
We went out to lunch with a couple of teacher buddies. (Missed you, Mabel.) I sent him out to the car for his Lappy to prevent boredom, and for some change for #2 son to buy a sticky hand (more on that later), and for more change for another kid to buy a sticky hand. As we were leaving, I gave him the keys to start up the LSUV so #2 son wouldn't fry. I was standing by the car, saying final goodbyes, when the boy jumped out of the LSUV and said, "I did it again!" His finger was dripping blood. I told him to hold his hand under it and run into the bathroom for some paper towels. We were going next door to the pharmacy anyway, and I planned to buy some more generic Band Aids.
#1 said a waitress tried to stop him, but he held out his bloody finger, and she moved to let him through. Which kind of pisses me off, because even though we spent 2 hours sitting at their table, the place was not full, and I even left a $5 tip in their tip jar, though they were kind of rude and trying to make us leave and since it's just a tip jar, I should have only left a dollar, because it looked like that's what everyone else did, but NO, Mrs. Hillbilly Mom wanted to do the right thing for the group's $29.34 bill. Anyhoo, The Bleeder returned with a bloody paper towel (I bet that was good for business), and we were on our way. But not before Old Buddy said, "Hey, you might need stitches." I swear the boy turned white. I was in no mood to lounge about an ER all afternoon, so I said, "You know, they will give you a shot in that finger before they start stitching it up with the needle. And you don't even have a flap of skin to sew, so they will have to try and close that hole." He shook his head like Seinfeld refusing a bite of pie, so that was the end of that little fantasy.
When we got to the pharmacy, I made a beeline for the Band Aid section, while a clerk called, "Ma'am? Can I help you find something?" Maybe the attentiveness had something to do with #1 son running into the bathroom clutching his bloody hand. Maybe not. But that threw the regular clerk for a loop, since she had already found my prescriptions in the file drawer, and was standing at the register with them. #2 sat in the waiting chairs, flicking his sticky hand while I paid. #1 came out with some fresh paper towels, and we were on our way.
The bleeding stopped, and the boy is fine, bandaged again, which is anticlimactic, I know, but what are you gonna do? Sorry my life is not as interesting as a summer blockbuster.
And now...about the sticky hand...I'm sure you know what I'm talking about. You get it out of a toy machine thingy like a gum machine, and it's in one of those little plastic thingies that are impossible to get open, and it's like a stretchy, sticky, gummy flat hand with a long arm, and when you throw it while holding the arm end, it streeeeetches, and sticks to what it hits, and either picks it up, or snaps back. They come in various colors. #2 son got a red one. He is not usually allowed to have them. Those things are like the wall-walker thingies, and they leave greasy marks on whatever they hit. I suppose #2 knew that he would not get chastised so severely in front of my cronies, so he bought one without permission. He flicked it at the glass-topped table. He flicked it at its plastic holder, and picked that up. He flicked it at a dollar bill one buddy had laid down to pay for a soda, but couldn't snatch that. Old Buddy's little girl saw it, and wanted one. She didn't have change, either, so I sent #1 out to get some. She got a gray one, which was not nearly so pretty as my boy's sticky hand, but which she enjoyed trememdously. She's a bit younger than him. She flicked her mom, and wrapped the long sticky arm around her own arm tightly several times until the other buddy intervened.
When we walked outside, the little girl stood calmly flicking her sticky hand on the dark blue van parked next to my LSUV. I almost thought I heard it sizzle. It was 93 degrees, after all. Everything was fine until an old woman walked out and got into the blue van, giving the tot a withering look to rival Kathy Griffin's child-hating scowl. Old Buddy snatched up her young 'un and moved to the other side of the LSUV. Yep. It's all fun and games until a cranky car-owner catches you flicking your sticky hand on her sizzling hot mini-van. That little episode kind of broke the mood, and Old Buddy said they needed to be going. Especially the tot, who was going to hop on her port-a-potty that Old Buddy carries in the car for her. As she freely admits, she is a bit OCD about the germ thingy.
She assured me she was not wearing an astronaut diaper.
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6 comments:
It's all fun and games until a cranky car-owner catches you flicking your sticky hand on her sizzling hot mini-van.
We need to have that put on some t-shirts.
I hope you didn't go to Wrong Aid.
I have a feeling you're gonna regret that colorful description of what it's like to get stitches one day as you're dragging a bleeding boy into the ER to sew up some huge gash or something.
I ran into the corner of a shelf in a store when I was about 4, and once my mother stopped beating me she realized that I was covered in blood. It made a big gash in my head, right above my ear. My dad told me that the doctor filled the hole with rocks, and when I started kindergarten shortly after that, I told all the kids I had rocks in my head. I thought it was interesting. Little did I know that it set me up for many years of looking like a complete and total dumbass who not only had rocks in her head, but was proud of it. (Thanks, Dad.)
Where would we be without draino hey?
Diva,
Yeah. And we can sell them through Hillbilly Mom's General Store.
Meanie,
Nope. It was USA Drug. They have never given us the wrong prescription with our name on it, like The Devil's Playground pharmacy. They gave #1 son some lady's blood pressure medicine instead of his Zyrtec 10mg tablets. Actually, it WAS Zyrtec in the vial thingy, but it was labeled with a lady's name and other drug. I don't know about you, but I was raised that M O O N spells "Don't ingest medicine out of a vial that has someone else's name on it." They acted all pissy when I took it all the way back to town and had a fit, but what if we had actually gotten the one with HIS name on it labeled Zyrtec, and I gave it to him and it was HER blood pressure meds? Huh? Because I guarantee you they had another vial with that label, because they just switched them by 'mistake'. Then what, you stinkin' Devil's Playground pharmacists? Would you admit your mistake THEN, when my boy is having the stomach-pumping and charcoal ring around his mouth?
Sorry, got carried away there for a minute.
Thank the Gummi Mary you ripped your head open in a pharmacy, so your mom could get you some Benadryl! What's a few rocks in the head, as long as you have Benadryl?
Cazzie,
I hate to break this to you, but the mighty Drano didn't work. I used a whole jug of it. HH said he would clean out the trap, but #1 son caught him plunging it. Some nasty stuff must have come up, because it looked like HH even cleaned the sink. Or else he remembered where he used the plunger last time, and didn't want his dishes washed in that stuff.
I detest those sticky hands. Kelly got one stuck on my back windsheild (and left it there) and of course I never noticed it, so it melted a 4 inch green hand print on the window that was a PAIN to scrub off when I did notice it three days later.
My kids all think that even the smallest scrapes require amputation, I just always tell them that so that if it ever is serious, they hear me saying scary medical words already all the time and don't get all freaked out on me.
Gal,
Well, you know what they say...the Devil finds work for sticky hands...
Good planning for the possible future amputations.
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