Sometimes, I get the feeling that Ryan is just an accident waiting to happen. The boy does things that he just shouldn’t. He is impatient and thinks he can do anything himself. He gets hurt. It’s like it’s wired into his DNA.
Remember when he painted upstairs, over a flight of stairs? No? Here’s the post to prove it. This is the kind of stuff he pulls all the time. And there is more. But, Ryan doesn’t allow me to share most of it on the blog because our mothers read it and they would worry.
Well, the boy has done it again. I came home today to find that he had broken three fingers at work today.
One or two fingers wouldn’t have cut it. He had to fracture three fingers on his right hand. In case you need to catch up on the math – that means that he lost 30% of his fingers…It happened early this morning – but, he didn’t call to let me know that it happened. Of course not – “It is something that is better to talk about in person. I didn’t wanna worry you.”
(Do you wanna hear the most annoying (and simultaneously funniest) part of the story? (I know you do.) When he went to get an x-ray, the receptionist gave him a clipboard of papers to fill out even though his work gave him paperwork with all of his information. WTH! He writes with his right hand – which had three fingers broken. When he explained this to her, she told him to “do your best and use your left hand.” If his wife would have been there, that woman would have gotten an earful. That is ridiculous!)
Anyhoo, after scowling at him for keeping this from me all day and making him pinky swear (because that was pretty much the only finger left) to call me when this happens next time (because I’m sure something like this will happen again), I did what any good wife would do:
1. I made him take a photo so I could blog it. He looked goofy – it was blog-worthy.
(Doesn’t he look thrilled?)
2. I made sure that he could still unload the dishwasher with 7 fingers (he can).
3. After finding out that he hadn’t taken the pain-killers the nurses gave him, I called his mother. I knew she would agree that he should take them (and she did). Plus, I needed to make sure she was aware that he was down three fingers before I blogged it.
4. He still didn’t take the pain killers, so I called my mother. I knew she would agree that he should take them (and she did).
Are you wondering why the boy won’t take the pain killers? Even when the fingers hurt like the dickens?
“I need to save them for if something really bad happens.”
(Really? Because three fingers isn’t the threshold for you? And, when something really bad happens, why would the doctor not give you any more pain killers?)
At some point, he will have to take the pain killers. The pain of three persuasive women nagging him will get to him. I’m sure of it.
But, all-in-all, he decided that breaking three fingers wasn’t all bad.
“I did get free tetanus and whooping cough shots today,” he told me with a smile. “And, I figure that having a tetanus shot is probably good for me since I’m always getting hurt.”
The boy is thrifty and practical – I’ll give him that.
(PS – In case you are appalled at my apathy, I want to put it on the record that I do care about my husband and have been taking care of him. I’ve been helping him do things that he cannot do because of his loss of finger-function. He’s well taken care of. However – we both find amusement in the situation so I can make fun of it. Plus, we all know I’m not in the running for the wife of the year award. So, don’t you go calling the domestic abuse hotline.)