Monday, August 3, 2009

The Trust About Church Softball. Part 2.

So there we were. Sitting on the bleachers, feeling happy that I had a band-aid and listening to the other Mrs. talk about her husbands days as an EMT. Nothing to worry about, well, not for my man anyway, just for the other guy, who was still holding his knee as he hobbled around the dugout and tried to make his own injury a scene. I was apparently the only one noticing him, because the other men all seemed to be huddled at the other end of the dugout. And that is when I realized they were huddled around Mr. Ruggedly.

So I interrupted the Mrs. and said I wanted to go check on the injured. I made my way towards the dugout, passed Leftie from the outside of then fence and headed towards my apparently, very injured husband.

A team of four or five men were standing around. As I approached, they were all tending to him and he was flitting them away with his hands, because there were just too many of them bothering and tending to him. I reached my hand through the chain link fence to tug a little on his shirt. He turned towards me and he had blood caked onto his eyebrow and was streaming partway down his face. (I'll save you from the actual image).

They were asking him questions and someone asked if he had some superglue. He had some in the truck and though I told him I would go and retrieve it, he did himself.

He returned and at least one or two of the guys sprayed some into the cut. Sprayed may not be the best adjective but I can't think of a better one. It still did not look pretty.

He finished the game. They didn't win. Leftie had another guy carry his bag as they limped towards his car. He had to get a ride because he couldn't put pressure on his right leg and that is sort of a necessity for driving.

Mr. Ruggedly and I walked to his truck. He was debating what to do, because the former EMT really thought he might need stitches. I took a photo with my phone and we text it to the Mr.'s brother, who only recently begun his Emergency Medicine Residency in a state a long way from our home. Mr. then called his brother and asked him what he thought. They talked about the injury and the photo and came to the conclusion, that neither knew what to do, probably because the Dr. couldn't see a lot from the photo and because neither Mr. or I know very much about what needs stitches. Well that isn't entirely true. He has had stitches. I have never. But he couldn't see the cut very well because it was right in his eyebrow and underneath his eye and there was some mess of blood all around it and his brother had said something about injuries under the eyebrow are more delicate than injuries elsewhere.

So we left the park, unsure of what to do. We looked for an open urgent care. I called my friend a nurse. I called my friend who lives with a medical student. I worried. We got home and he cleaned the cut and took a shower. We have recently changed medical insurance and didn't have our new cards, so we didn't really want to go and wait at the Emergency Room. Not too mention, we didn't want to wait for eight hours for them to send us home stitch-less.

We ended up going to our local pharmacy to find out if they had something called a steri-strip. They don't. They only have butterflys. But... the nice pharmacy tech works a a second job at the hospital and he showed us this cut he had steri-stripped that was almost healed. We walked out and decided to return home empty handed. Perhaps the superglue would hold. Or maybe we could go to an urgent care in the morning. Either way, nothing was accomplished and he still had a wound in and under his eyebrow.

I was a little unnerved the entire evening. Partly because I don't like blood. And secondly because I wasn't really sure what to do. And thirdly because it looked like it hurt and I don't like my man being hurt.

Just as Mr. Ruggedly started to pull out of the parking lot to head towards home, the pharmacy tech came running out of the front doors of the store. "Hey man, I might actually have some steri-strips in my car from this wound. They work like a miracle because they don't come off"
Mr. hopped out of the car and followed the PT to his car. Sure enough, he had some. And he so generously gave them to my husband.

We headed home to bind up his wound. And then we headed out for pizza.

He is healing now. And I'm so thankful. Partly because I don't like him to be hurt. And secondly, because I really do like his bushy eyebrows.

I'm here. And I'm still writing...


P.S. In Part 1. I said 200 yards. I meant 200 feet. I apparently know very little about distances.

1 comment:

Q, La, and Gooner said...

oh dear, and what a blessing.