the daredevil klutz goes down a pint
Wednesday Jude called me about 3 pm to let me know she was on her way
home from her workshop. When she got back, we were going to celebrate
her safe return with some pub grub at our favourite bar.
I needed to do a few chores before then, so I went out the front door with
Roameo and Slinkee ahead of me. I noticed they were having trouble with
the icy porch steps. As I was mentally adding “clean front steps” to my
chore list, I slipped on them as a reminder to myself.
It was just a butt flop, nowhere near my best effort. It would have been
laughable if I hadn’t had two glass jars in my right hand, my usual hand
of choice to break my fall in such situations. It did, indeed, break my fall.
And the jars. A shard of glass cut through an artery. I started bleeding
like I hear stuck pigs do.
I scrambled back inside, wrapped a bath towel around my hand and made
three quick calls — to Jude, to the island’s medical clinic and to the RCMP —
to brief them of my situation. I then hastily turned off the generator, got
the dogs inside, took a few photos of the wound, watched the “Lord of the
Rings” trilogy, and got another towel for the 15-mile drive to the clinic.
I postulated that if I became dizzy from loss of blood, I’d pull over and put
my flashers on. I made it, though, in about 25 minutes, heartened by the
Beatles “Rubber Soul” CD. I kept pressure on the gash by pushing down on
the gear shift knob. Thank Random Chance for stick shifts.
The clinic is not really set up for emergencies, but the staff did an admirable
job of stitching me up. When I started going into shock, they thoughtfully
gave me oxygen and an IV of Ringer’s lactate. I found out later that I lost a
pint of blood.
They even gave me a taste of Dilaudid, a grandchild of laudanum, which was
the drug of choice of the Romantic poets. Now I know why Keats, Shelley and
Lord Byron talked so goofily. That was about the time Jude showed up straight
from the ferry. As best I recall, she got into a discussion with the clinic staff
about whether I was a klutz or a daredevil. It had not been resolved when the
ambulance arrived.
Jude followed the ambulance in our truck right back to the mainland on the
next ferry, hopping in to help the EMT’s during the crossing. She was by my
side constantly in the ER as I was splinted, wrapped and referred to a plastic
surgeon. My appointment is today and I may need surgery to repair some
nerve and/or tendon damage.
So I may not be able to post tomorrow. I’m typing this with just my south
paw. I certainly have learned a lot from my inattentiveness, like how hard
it is to eat mac & cheese with one’s non-dominant hand.
I don’t want to leave you with the impression that I will keep injuring myself
to pique interest in the blog. Instead I’ll leave you with this pic Jude took of me
last night just before she shaved off my winter beard, in case I need anesthesia
for surgery:
I’ll explain the eyepatch later.
Comments are closed.
Anchor Struck 
Cripes, Allen! You see what that poor eating did to you? I was about {} this close to being jealous of your quiet, island living. But then I realized I might have to actually act in a medical emergency rather than just call 911 and lay down on the floor, waiting for someone to fetch me and carry me to the ER. I think I’ll stick to the city.
Feel better!
Can do, Coach. Jude and I are just about out the door to the doctor’s. If I had known I’d have to fast in case of surgery, I wouldn’t have fallen.
That’s twice dude! If you do it once more I will have to assume you are somewhat of an “attention seeker.” Take care.
I’m starting to suspect the same thing, Joan! 😉
You missed your calling. You should have been a pirate…you totally rock the look! I’d say that all you need is a peg-leg to be completely in character, but I’d be afraid that you would manage to get one!
Good grief. Throwing yourself off cliffs, slashing arteries … you don’t have some hidden “self-destruct” button that accidentally got pushed, do you? Seems like you’re trying your darnedest to delete yourself. No power tools for you, fella!
Have to say, I’m also a bit disturbed by the slightly manic grin you’re sporting as you hold up your poor, abused arm for the camera – it’s an INJURY, Allen, not a winning lotto ticket!
Must be those really good drugs.
All humour aside, let us know if there’s anything we can do to help ( I’d say: “we’d be happy to lend a hand”, but you might chop it off )!
Take care of yourself ! Oh, and Jude – keep an eye on him, clearly he needs supervision!
So it was one of those days, huh?
lots of blood and guts in this blog! see, if you were a south paw like me having only one hand to use for awhile would not be such an issue! good luck and heal quick! i want to hear about the eye patch…
Jude,
Do not let this man run with scissors!
Seriously, Alan, don’t make a third attempt – you might be successful. On the subject of vegetarianism, archeologists have found that the bones of hunter-gatherers (meat eaters) are long, straight and disease-free. However, bones of ancient peoples, who farmed and ate cereals are shorter and disease-ridden. Feel free to use that information in arguments, but be prepared to duck. You have a poor safety record!
Looks like a little grounding is in order, mister …
jes sayin’.
Glad it wasn’t worse, but a pint of blood does sound like a lot …