Anchor Struck

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.