Scarred for Life

I am klutzy and one of the refrains from our early marriage was Joel asking me “Do I need to take you to the emergency room…..again?” Trust me when I say that Joel has rolled his eyes at my misadventures more than once in our marriage. But, one day, Joel called me to tell me that he was injured and sitting in a walk-in clinic waiting to be seen. And, that he was bleeding profusely from his upper lip to just below his nostril from a nasty gash, and was waiting to see the doctor.

Our first house was a 1960’s era brick basement rancher with about five acres of beautiful land divided into pastures by a series of fences. And, true to the era, the house had Pepto-Bismol pink porcelain tiles, a pink tub and a pink toilet in the bathroom, wood paneling in the family room, ceiling heat and a wood stove, no dishwasher, and no central air conditioning.

Along with our beautiful land, we had a large storage area / workshop building constructed by the prior owner in the pasture some distance across and past the driveway. Our window unit air conditioners were stored in the outbuilding. The weather had just warmed enough and Joel set about the task of retrieving the AC units and installing them in our windows.

Joel went to the workshop and hoisted the largest air conditioner so that he could navigate toward the house. The unit was heavy and bulky. Even as large as Joel is (both in height and girth), the air conditioner unit was awkward to manage, even for him. He could not see over the top of it and essentially walked blindly forward with both arms only partially around the unit.

Joel managed to squeeze through the workshop doorway and down the one step to the grass, when he was attacked by what he believed to be wasps, which were plentiful in our wooded setting and the old, dusty workshop. Unnerved and shaken,  he reflexively jerked his arms upward and stumbled. The sharp metal corner of the air conditioner caught him between his upper lip and nostril.

His eyes began watering. He staggered away from the building while fighting the urge to drop the air conditioner. He managed to wrestle the unit to the ground and at the first opportunity ran across the field and driveway inside to a mirror, where he saw blood on his face. He feared the depth of the cut and struck out for the walk-in clinic for treatment and what he believed would be probable stitches.

The nurse came in to examine the horrible wound. Would he be badly scarred? Would he need a tetanus shot? After close inspection and a cotton gauze pad which she dabbed on the perceived laceration, she offered the advanced technology of ……a Band-Aid. Yes, a Band-Aid. Turns out it he barely scratched himself, and they didn’t even charge him for the visit!

Now, I may have had more than my usual share of mishaps, but I have never gone to the doctor for just a Band-Aid. (Eye roll!) I always get casts or stitches or surgery.   Here, honey.  Now dry your tears and have a Sponge Bob Band-Aid to make your boo-boo all better.

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