This week I have really worked at writing which means not only putting down lines but submitting, studying markets, checking on outstanding submissions, answering editor emails, and the like. Today was to be a different kind of day. I wanted to start reading the new Elizabeth Stout book, get in a set of exercises, and then an early luncheon with special friends before an afternoon studying the new markets I had found.
Nothing started right. Biscuit was demanding and barking and I only got one page read from sitting and jumping up. Then DH got up, dragging around slower than usual. Finally, it was only an hour before the luncheon when I just gave up all my morning agenda. I started bath water and figured I could run some errands before luncheon, wiping a couple of items off my “to do” list. Before I could step into the hot bath, DH appeared before me holding his hand dripping blood. “Hurry, I think I have cut my finger off to the bone.”
Remembering to turn off the tub water, I grabbed clothes and tried to find matching shoes. I ignored hair plastered to head. I forgot watch, makeup, and eventually I learned I forgot my cell phone as well. I did get underwear on! We threw dog in back as it was easiest to do and headed for Joplin. It was a nerve-wracking drive for me. DH called himself names including “stupid” all the way. The smell of blood nauseated my already tremulous gut.
The news was good, a miracle in fact. He had run his hand through a planer, which has three whirring blades, when the board slipped. He estimated 900 sharp teeth did the damage. It did not get to the bone, but the flesh was chewed as if pinking shears were cutting fabric. There was nothing to sew. They trimmed the flesh, disinfected, put on a gel sponge pad over the wound, and wrapped it in a huge bandage. It will be a week and then the finger should start regrowing somewhat and closing up from the outside in. The nail he will probably loose permanently and the finger will be deformed.
Then they made a mistake. They told him he could go back into the shop right away, just keep the bandage clean and don’t get the finger wet. Have you ever seen a builder or woodworker with hands he did not need to wash? Can you tell a husband anything? Well enough said.
And people question why I don’t write a 600 page, multi-generational family saga in my free time?
On the way home, I ran into the grocery store for something and saw beautiful yellow roses. They called to me. On the way to the car I carried them and small sack. DH said, “I’m not feeling that bad.”
“Well, I am!”
Next stop was the slow moving line at the pharmacy for the meds the ER ordered. Finally with all the necessaries in hand, we got home in midafternoon. A friend followed us in. Her mother had just been diagnosed with colon and liver cancer.
That put a chewed up finger and lost writing time in perspective.