I Am Mrs. Hillbilly Mom's Hematoma

Remember Reader's Digest, and the features about Joe's assorted organs? I don't think his hematoma ever had a chance to speak. Or type.

This is why people on aspirin therapy shouldn't whack their hand on the raised countertop section next to the low countertop section where their New Delly sits in their dark basement lair. Sweet Gummi Mary! The light was even on, so I don't have that as an excuse. I was getting up from my rolly chair, and whacked the back of my hand on the corner of the countertop.

Let's just say that it's pretty apparent that Mrs. Hillbilly Mom is not in danger of a blood clot in the near future.

Oh, I'm sure there's a little bit of clotting to stem the flow of my life force out that damaged vein. But nothing like the unstoppable deluge that might have occurred, had I still been on the demon Xarelto. It kind of hurts, and will have a colorful bruise in a couple of days that will make the Devil's Handmaidens and The Devil's Playground look at me askance. But I'm not going to bleed to death from it.

Let the record show that it took four tries to get this picture, what with Jack popping his head into frame and then disappearing, leaving only his but like a Cheshire cat leaves its smile by the time the photo was snapped. Not to mention jumping up to jostle my hand.

I think I'll live, in spite of the waxy appearance of my digits, like I'm already on display at Madame Tussaud's. I blame the lotion I put on this afternoon.