The Big Kick Off

. . .No pun intended.

Do you see this picture?

This is where it all started. While out shopping with my mother one day last week, I spotted this picture at a local craft store and talked Mom into buying it for me (along with the frame) as an early birthday present (BTW, it's a copy of Jack Vettrianos 'Lazy Hazy Days'). I was elated, as I have been in search for a pretty, yet meaningful picture to hang on one of the walls in our living room. Why is it meaningful? Well, quite frankly, that's not intended for this post, but if you really care then ask me at WoernerWorld.

Once I got home that evening, I excitedly opened the frame so I could place my picture between the glass and back. I then proceeded to maneuver the glass into place over the picture. What I failed to realize was that one of the prongs on the backing of the frame was out of place, so when it all came together, a chunk of the glass broke off. Of course I was heartbroken, but I made do and decided that using the heavy plastic that is used in cheap Wal-Mart frames would work just as well.

And it did. While John was on his computer, I decided to bring my project upstairs to work on. I removed both pieces of glass, placed then facing out against the wall, and replaced the glass with the heavy plastic.

Sunday evening, John and I were having a quiet evening at home as he was playing a computer game and I was writing for WoernerWorld. Having to be up at 6:00AM the following morning, I decided to go to bed at 10:40.

Here's where it gets exciting.

I was suddenly awakened by my husband calling my name, "Anna? Anna."

Still partially unconscious, I replied, "Yeah?"

"I need you to come here."

It wasn't registering. "Why?" I asked.

"Because I need your help."

Didn't he know that I had to be up at the butt crack of dawn the next morning? "But why?" I continued.

"Because I'm bleeding."

I jumped out of bed, trying to figure out what he could have done to himself that would seriously require my help.

As I walked into the bathroom, the first thing I saw was this:
The next thing I saw was blood literally gushing beneath his left big toe into the toilet.

Heart attack.

"What HAPPENED?!" I cried, not caring that I probably woke the neighbors.

He had kicked his toe against "that piece of glass in there" while trying to raise a window.

Cuss. It was clearly my fault the glass was there, though he tells me not to blame myself because he didn't turn the light on to see where he was walking.

Either way.

The next paragraph or so occurred in about 90 seconds, so brace yourselves.

"Do we need to go to the emergency room?!" Was my next statement. Duh, Anna. Band Aid doesn't work miracles.

I was instructed to grab the dish towel I hated most so that he could wrap his foot in it. Immediately I ran downstairs and (somewhat giddily) grabbed the last awful, chef decorated dishtowel that I had received ten of as a wedding present and brought it back to John. We then proceeded to hunt down something to actually tie the towel together. Finally I found a yellow flimsy belt and handed it to John while I tore through my clothes to find SOMETHING to put on as my attire was not suitable for a hospital.

I settled on a pair of five year old knit pants and an even older hoodie. The thought of actually putting on certain undergarments made for the upper body did not cross my mind until we were well on our way.

I grabbed both our wallets and cell phones and followed him as he hobbled down the stairs. My heart was racing and my hands were shaking, and all the while I couldn't help but think about how I couldn't wait to blog this story and how it was oddly familiar to one The Pioneer Woman wrote awhile back. I'm still a good wife, I promise :)

As I was driving, John began to complain of his foot throbbing. Though we only live five miles from the nearest hospital, I began to speed, not caring if a cop got behind me. I wouldn't have pulled over anyway.

There are several lights on the street leading up to the hospital, and we made it through all of them except the last one. All of the lights except for the one that allowed me to turn was green, and it showed NO interest in changing despite the fact that no cars were coming.

"Run it." John said.

"WHAT?!" I replied, frantically seeing that two cars were waiting at the adjacent side of the intersection.

"Just run it."

What a rush. I illegally drove through that intersection with two witnesses watching and drove straight to the hospital entrance.

Is it just me, or does it seem a bit stupid to have a half mile DRIVEWAY leading up to the Emergency Room?

Anyway.

I zoomed into the ER entrance and John got out, wobbling into the Emergency Room. I proceeded to park and quickly follow him in.

By the grace of God, there weren't many people waiting, and we were called after about ten minutes.

A doctor and nurse were in and out of the room we had been taken to, cleaning and prepping John for stitches. Upon being cleaned, we were able to get a better look at the damage. The skin had been punctured all the way to the bone and created an almost two inch laceration in the shape of an upside down 'V'

Several shots of lidocaine (and a ton of hand squeezing to go along with it), 18 stitches and insurance paperwork later, we were leaving the hospital at 2:00AM.

Did I mention I had to be up at 6:00 to babysit?

I didn't let that weigh on my mind, mostly because I knew my sweetheart needed me and I would have stayed up the entire night if needed.

Cue the "aww. . . ."

This was the outcome:

He was also told to take two days off work and not to do any prolonged standing for ten days.

Though his foot has been hurting, the break from work has been nice for him :)

Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to First Year Fiascos. This blog is exclusively for the insanity, hilarity, and just plain funniness that goes on in the life that my husband and I share :)