No rest for the weary, no luck for the losers, and no ablebodiedness for the gimpy.
I closed the car door on my leg again.
This time, it was T-Hoe's giant door. Of course I blame Farmer H! No. He did not hold my leg out and slam the door. He wasn't even there. But it happened when I parked at the FREE AIR hose at the Gas Station Chicken Store to put air in T-Hoe's right rear tire. I've been getting a message to check it. Supposed to have 35 pounds of air, and only had 26. With the cold weather, all the tires show low air. The front two have 30 pounds. So I was leaving them alone until Farmer H can drive T-Hoe over to the BARn, and check all the tires, and fill them with his compressor.
Anyhoo... because I turned to walk to the BACK of T-Hoe, my routine was thrown off, and I closed the door before I had fully stepped out of the way. I immediately knew I was in trouble. I could feel fluid flowing down my left leg. To add salt to my newly-ripped-open wound, the tire had stopped with the valve stem at the very bottom. The six o'clock position. Almost as if Even Steven had measured it with a compass. That meant I was virtually standing on my head to remove the cap, and hold the air hose nozzle against it.
A puddle of blood was forming at my heel. Dang it! I hated to go inside, but I wanted my scratchers cashed in for more. I didn't so much mind that the back of my pants leg was sodden, because nobody looks over the counter at that. But I didn't want to leave puddles. I made sure to stand on the tile, not the rugs. I'm thinking my pants and sock kept soaking up my fluids, since the pants were against the leg while I was standing normally.
I called Farmer H to report my predicament. Thank the Gummi Mary, I had already completed my Thanksgiving shopping in two stores, and was headed home. Farmer H came out to help, but he has been forbidden to carry anything due to his back discs. So I had to be quite stern with him, so he only held the door open, and watched the dogs so they didn't eat my turkey breast and bacon while I set two boxes and three bags on the side porch, before climbing the steps and transferring them into the kitchen.
Once inside, I changed into my sweatpants and hiked the leg up. I put my pants in the washer to soak, along with the squishy sock. Farmer H wiped down my leg and patched it with triple antibiotic ointment and a 2x4 inch bandaid. He forgot to take a picture so I could see the wound, but said it looked like a 1-2 inch horizontal scratch. No hole like on the gambling trip. It doesn't hurt hardly at all. So I'm hoping for a quicker recovery.
Of course, the fluid is still seeping, because my body is rushing reinforcements to that area to carry away damaged cells and start the healing. I have my foot on a towel, and when I get up, I put a paper towel in my Croc so it doesn't grow so squishy.
It's going to be a long week...
2 comments:
You really do need to be more careful (mum voice) we can't have you laid up for months at a time recovering from injuries while we wait to see if you are going to lose a leg. Perhaps you should wear padded pants, they'll help prevent injuries and keep you warm through the winter.
Good to hear this one is just a smallish scratch.
River,
I need SOMETHING! We went to the casino today, and I told Farmer H and The Pony: "Make sure when I get out that you say, 'DON'T CLOSE THE DOOR ON YOUR LEG!'" They did not. But I managed to escape further injury anyway.
Farmer H says this one is HALF the size of the first such injury. I beg to differ. The picture I took showed just a small scoop of skin missing. Smaller than a pea. But closer inspection showed a possible tendril of the scooped-out skin hanging beneath. I don't know where Farmer H got the "scratch" description. The good news is that the injury no longer looks bloody. Clear fluid flowing through the bandaid. I'm hopeful that this will stop within a week. Of course, my Thanksgiving preparations are not quite compliant with such a prediction.
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