DON'T HAVE FUN

Early in September, Gary was at a company picnic, playing kickball, and injured his finger. He was in a splint for six weeks. The finger didn't heel correctly, and now our doctor is checking into the possibility of surgery. (Gary is thinking he's just going to forego the surgery and live with the misshapen finger, as long as they can get the pain under control without surgery.)

Just as the splint was coming off, he injured his shoulder while moving lumber for his deck-project.

Now, with today's warm spell, Gary decides that steaks on the grill would be a lovely idea. Baked potatoes. Slow-fried, caramelized onions. Marinated rib-eyes. Spinach salad. Steamed mixed veggies. And leftover birthday [cheese]cake. Sounds marvelous, right?

It almost was.
Then a gust of wind blew through the garage and slammed the door on Gary's hand as he was headed to the grill. He screamed and headed for the bathroom sink, yelling for a bandaid. When I brought him the box of bandaids, I about lost it when I saw what he was washing under the running water. We decided pretty darn quick that this was nothing to mess with at home.

One finger was banged up by the door slam. The other was seriously cut. And broken. (Oh, gosh, I'm getting queasy again. Gotta think about it to write about it.... Urgh.) So now he's all bandaged up. On antibiotics because the risk of infection in open fractures is so great, especially in the hand, and they don't want the bone getting infected. On Vicodin too, for the pain. Needing a follow-up appointment tomorrow afternoon or Tuesday morning.

Well, when we got home, the steaks had marinated an extra four hours, and they were even tastier than they would've been at a proper dinner-time.

Don't play kickball.
Don't have a deck.
Don't grill some yummy lunch.
Don't have fun.
It's too dangerous.


(PS to the children who grew up in my house: You know your mother's hang-up with slammed doors. Your father was commenting on that in ER today.)