I got a boo-boo, an owie, a #$%&@.
We live in an old house and have not been able to do much with it since we bought it back in ’92. In the long list of things to fix, the third thing on the list is the front door. The door frame is so freakin’ warped. Nothing is straight in this house except the critters. Prior to us buying this money pit, someone tried to “fix” the door frame by putting up metal-backed strips of fuzzy insulation to try and stop the draft around the edges. Most of that we’ve removed or hammered down. But it seems there’s a piece that’s worked it’s way back up. I’m not sure how it happened, but somehow while letting Mike out on the long lead (16′ leash) to greet Lorna, I got tangled up in the leash and two other dogs. My arm was pressed against and scraped along the door frame.
We have a code phrase for when a boo-boo is bad enough that an extra hand is needed or whatever. We say “meet me in the bathroom”. This usually means blood is flowing. It gets the other person to slip into the right frame of mind. The bathroom is near the cabinet where we keep our bandages and other wound supplies.
As you can guess from the photo above, it wasn’t pretty. I looked down and at first just saw white skin from the scrape and figured all was sore but fine. Then I saw blood starting to pour. I said “meet me in the bathroom”. I went there and started running cold water over it to rinse it while Lorna got the dogs in. She joined me quickly and cleaned it up. We saw it wasn’t a deep cut, just an angry one. We also discussed when did I last have a tetanus shot. It’s an awkward place to bandage so we’re just letting it air out.
By the time we fed the dogs and went out to take care of some things, the arm was on fire. It’s how my body deals with injuries. It was during dinner that the initial irritation calmed down and we could see the other scratches. I’ll survive, but boy howdee, did I do a good job or what?! The flash from the camera removed the smaller scratches and the redness doesn’t show up at all. So much for the gore, dangit.
This scar will join so many others on that arm. The two tornado shaped ones from Kev’s chickens when we were kids. The long one on the top of the wrist from a burn/cut gotten from a Flexi-lead cord (that one hurt like the beejeebers!). Then there’s the one from the Jeep door cut while on vacation. The bite scars from Jake chewing my hand (I still have problems with the ring finger). It’s also the arm with the Bible Bump (ganglion cyst), the chronically out-of-joint thumb, the ulna nerve damage, and various other weirdness. All of this is from the elbow down! I’m such a freakin’ mess, ain’t I?