Friday, February 4, 2011

The good, the bad and the ugly

This has been one odd week for my family.

Monday—I slammed my face and butt into the driveway because of the ice.

Tuesday—blizzard. No school. Paul cut the tip of his finger off—NO. He really did. More on that in this post. Keep reading.

Wednesday—my beautiful second daughter turned 7. No school.

Thursday—colder than cold. Plastic Surgeon for Paul’s finger. No school.

Friday—still colder than cold. Kids have school {thank God. They were getting cabin fever}. I am worried about Paul’s finger since he went back to work and doesn’t have me around to nag him not to bump it.

Sounds…unreal right?

I wish.

So I did blog about Monday and the ice.

Tuesday. Oh—crappy day Tuesday.


Yep. That is what it looked like looking out of our garage.


Paul managed to get the snow blower fired up and headed out for round 1.

And then he came in.

Later, he bundled up some of our darlings and headed out again.


The kids came in after only a short time. It was too cold. Paul stayed out.

And then a few minutes past 8PM…he came beating on the doorbell. I was holding Cooper and I walked quickly to the door. He had a few choice words but what I heard was, “I cut my finger off.”

I go into super speed mode but feels like slow mode. I am yelling at the big kids to get their boots on and coats and get in the car. We have to get to the hospital.

Have I mentioned it was blizzard conditions outside? They hadn’t plowed our streets yet. And I drive a mini-van.

We make it up the street after a few good slams on the gas and pray moments. Once we get to the highway we are fine. I can still only drive 25-35mph because…well…in blizzard conditions, the snow is blowing and makes it a little difficult to see.

We get to the ER finally around 9PM. They have Paul soak his finger in iodine. How much of his left middle finger did he cut off? The tip. Probably about 1/4 inch. Mostly the meaty part and nail of the finger. They give Paul 3 shots of Novocain in the finger (not the open end of course) just so it is numb. They ask if we have the tip. Paul thinks it is still in the glove. Which is at home.

I rack my brain. Do I dare have the nerve to call and ask our very dear friends if they can bring it up to us at the ER? I dared. I called Julie.

“Julie. I have the biggest favor I will ever ask. And it’s gross. Can you have Bill go to our house and get the glove out of the garage that has Paul’s finger in it?”




I give her the garage code. I am already thinking that there is no way I will ever be able to pay this favor back.

We tell the ER Dr. that someone is bringing us the fingertip. He says okay. Paul gets his finger X-rayed. Just the tip is broken. Duh. Now we wait for the finger.

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