A dramatic day

This morning I looked at my pigsty house and decided I was going to do dishes before I even ate breakfast. I filled the whole drainer with dishes. After I washed Paul's Gymboree mug I looked around for a place to put it. I finally just set it on top of the silverware and hoped it would balance there until it dried. Of course I just kept washing dishes and piling more clean dishes on top of the ridiculously full drainer. Then the Gymboree mug came crashing to the floor. Things like that have happened to me a least a handful of times, but I usually dodge the knife or glass or what-have-you, thanking my lucky stars. No such luck today. The handle of the mug broke off, ricocheting off the floor and across my foot. The spot of blood on the broken shard plus the sharp pain in my foot signaled to me that I hadn't missed the shrapnel from the fallen cup. I grabbed my foot and instinctively sealed the cut with my thumb. Now what...

I stood there for at least a minute, precariously balancing on one leg, trying to figure out what to do, where to go, and how to get there. After much coaxing, I got Anson to get out of his booster seat (where he was eating breakfast) to give me a napkin. After he handed it to me and I pressed it on the cut, I hopped out of the kitchen, into the living room. Anson gave me my purse, and I called my neighbor, Danelle. Luckily she is a nurse, so she came over and patched me up with some butterfly closures and a bandage. I called Paul and asked him to come home to take care of me (since I couldn't get myself to the doctor, especially with the kids). I called the doc and he said that I needed to go to the Emergency room. We dropped Anson off at Danelle's house then we went down the street to Riverside Hospital where there was NO ONE in the waiting room. Granted there are a ton of hospitals for people to choose from within a small area (OSU, Riverside, Mount Carmel East, Mount Carmel West, St. Ann's, the list goes on). It was a little disconcerting that no one seemed to have chosen Riverside for their Emergency care, but hey, I figured any ole body could stitch a cut and it was worth it not to wait for an hour in the waiting room.

A resident came in after a little while and gave me 3 stitches. The mug shrapnel had given me a few other cuts around the area as well, but luckily there wasn't any glass in them. I can now say, with pride, that I survived getting stitches. Granted I got a whole mouth full of them when I got my wisdom teeth extracted. And I got a whole belly full of them when I got a C-section. But I was sedated both times, so it really was a totally different experience. After I bravely endured the suturing, I asked Paul if I could have an ice cream cone (Anson gets ice cream after getting a shot). He laughed and said I could. So I ate a whole pint of Denali Moose Tracks ice cream while doped up on Percocet. Nice.

The kids pretty much just hung out, watched movies, read books, then went to bed. Danelle came over with dinner (as I was praying she would), which made life that much easier. What an angel. She bound up my wound, watched my kid, and made me dinner. That's true love. Thank heaven for good neighbors.