So there I was, playing hookey and working, and the lawn mower decided to act up. The grass was dewey and kinda long, and it kept getting caught in the blower. So, I would stop the blade, and bend over to shake the grass out so I could continue mowing. This happened ten too many times. The last time I did this I failed to realize that the blade doesn't actually stop moving until you give it enough time to stop spinning. It's not a light switch, DU-UH! I thought that there might be a clump of grass caught in there, so I stuck my hand just a little bit too far and-
Yes. I. Stuck. My. Hand. Into. A. Running. Lawn. Mower.
The blade hit my finger and broke it. I got three stitches and a tetnaus shot. Wanna hear something funny? My doctor's name was Dr. Crapster. NO JOKE. Dr. Crapster. HA!!
I think the best part of the whole ordeal was the vicodin Dr. Crapster prescribed me. I think he did it because I had a sarcastic sense of humor about the whole thing, and because I didn't comment about his name. How nice of him, huh?
I think the crappiest part of the whole thing is that I had to explain to all of the million people I deal with on a daily basis how I broke my finger. I'd usually start the conversation like this, "Well, I won the dumbass award and this is my trophy." And then hold up my splinted finger.
Thankfully, I still have a finger. It has just sucked big ones that I wasn't able to use it for three weeks. Tuesday, I took off the splint and started OT. I finally decided to try typing today, and it feels good. It's still swollen like a sausage and bruised, but I'm cool.
10 comments:
1. Ouch! I'm glad you didn't lose your finger, but think of all the cool stories you could make up about how you lost it if you did.
2. I would not be able to get through an appointment with Dr. Crapster without being reduced to hysterical 12 year old laughter. I worked at McDonald's in high school and my boss' name was Mike Hunt. I couldn't even look him in the eye.
3. Is the Odenton ward really that bad? C'mon now. If I can go to my ward (and you know my reasons for not always wanting to) you can go.
(You know, I've heard if you wear fishnets to church it's more fun).
There's nothing wrong with the ward. It's me. I'm not sure fishnets would help.
I had to say Mike Hunt out loud to get it. Mel told me that his dad knew a guy named Richard Head.
Really people? Seriously??
Fishnets help everything.
(And where my parents live in New Hampshire, there was a guy running for office whose name was Dick Sweat. His opponent's last name was Borg and his slogan was "resistance is futile." (You'd have to be a Star Trek fan to get that one, I guess)).
First off, I'm glad your finger's feeling better. No more Sabbath-day yard work involving sharp, spinning objects for you!
Secondly, I had to say Mike Hunt out loud too. Then Gigi came running in to see what I was laughing about. I really shouldn't read blogs while the kids are awake.
When I was in college I was friends with a guy whose dad was named Harry Johnson.
Brandi -It'd be hard to know who to vote for based on names alone. I'd want to vote for someone with enough sense of humor to use the Trekkie slogan, but come on, Dick Sweat! How's a girl to choose!
Okay so I was laughing when I saw the title to your post... and now I just can't help myself. I am sorry that you broke your finger though... that really sucks.
I was wondering what you've been up to! Glad nothing very serious came out of it. My dad once did something similar involving a table saw. It was pretty gruesome. And I'm impressed that you paid attention to your doctor's name at all. I would have been a little more preoccupied. And if it really bothered him, he could introduce himself differently, so I figure its fair game.
I hope this taught you not to break the Sabbath anymore, tee-hee..
Look in the bright side, this experience made you appreciate your finger more; taught you not to stick your finger ever again in a running mower(w/c you should have known in the first place,ha-ha);give you a story to post in your blog :D..
*I'm soooooo sorry that I haven't emailed you a pancit recipe. My brain is just too tired to think of the measurements and the procedure. This is one of the food that I make that just comes automatic for me. I don't measure or even have a set procedure. When Naia stops keeping me up at night, I'm sure my brain will function better. Until then!
Ouch, that's sucks, but maybe it was a little reminder for you...
My Grandpa did that but got half his finger cut off! You got lucky.
-OW, OW, OMG OW! Marianne I wondered how you did that, I am so sorry!!
-Like you Im also nonexistant at church, you're not alone, I am with you in spirit!
-Fishnets are especially awesome in eye bleeding pink, in the Temple. I cherish some of the special reactions I've gotten.
Sooooo. I think I know that Dick Sweat of yours. He has a daughter named Chante Sweat and his grandfather was an ambassador to Norway. She was here for a while and YES, she can't WAIT to get married. Strange connection I might add...
And I wear fishnets on a regular basis and always did at FM. Remember??
Oh and ... GO TO CHURCH. It might help your odds.
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