It started with an email from my older sister, B. She and her husband A. had visited Dad bright and early that Sunday morning.
As they pulled up the driveway, Dad was sitting on the backyard sundeck. He greeted their arrival with a big smile and a firm handshake. That’s when B. noticed that his right hand had – in her words…”A gaping, oozing wound that seemed to be teetering on infection.” Between the characteristic ruckus caused by Hannah, Dad’s barking dog, and Dad’s characteristic shouts of “No Bark” to quiet the canine, B. tried to voice her concerns.“This injury looks serious, and it needs treatment right away. We should go to the emergency room.”
Dad’s stopped her in mid-sentence. “Oh, no! It’s just a minor ailment. Let’s get in the car and go to Long Beach so I can soak it in some ocean water and let it dry in the sun.” He immediately put on his stained light jacket, and picked up a soap-caked pail from the garage. His plan was to fill it with ocean water, sit on the shoreline and soak it for an extended period of time while he, B. and A. conversed about the week’s events.
During their car ride, B. kept asking Dad how he injured himself, and when it happened. Dad creatively avoided answering her questions, focusing instead on how it was a beautiful April day, and relaying his earlier adventures cleaning up stray rubbish blowing in the street near his office. This alarmed B. even more. Not only did Dad have a deep wound, but by picking up germ-laden garbage with his bare hands, he exposed it to toxic microorganisms that were now possibly breeding in his bloodstream. A. just drove dutifully in silence, shaking his head in disbelief.
As Dad happily soaked his hand in the questionable salt water (and as B. told him she swore she saw “green goose feces” swimming around in it), he finally came clean – no pun intended – with the story of how he got the injury. He evidently was trying to fix a chair, and needed to drill a hole in some wood; apparently the drill “slightly slipped” and the twirling drill bit stabbed him in the hand.
B. knew Donna and I were planning to visit Dad the following Sunday. In her e-mail she wanted to alert me to look at his hand and make sure it wasn’t turning into a full-blown gangrene specimen.
I wrote back, “A drill bit? Wow, that must have smarted. I was in pain just reading your e-mail; how could he not be? And how about a tetanus shot…yeah, right! He probably soaked it in sauerkraut juice to follow up his regimen with the ocean water. What great medicinal effects!” (Sauerkraut juice was one of Dad’s all-time-favorite remedies; he swore it cured everything from a stubbed toe to pneumonia).
When we arrived there the next Sunday, I immediately asked to see his wound. It was frightening and glistening in the light. I suggested he get stitches. He laughed at me for suggesting such a thing and said it was much better, healing just the way he wanted.
Then he directed us to the drill that created his minor ailment. This thing was a greasy clunker that weighed more than our old vacuum cleaner and seemed three times as powerful. It had a corroded, rusty, heavy gauge wire sticking out in all directions—wire probably used to perform an intricate repair on the damn thing. It is baffling how this tool didn’t rip the whole house down as it performed the unplanned surgical procedure on his hand.
To top it off, this charming workhouse of a drill—powerful enough to dim the lights when turned on—also had a frayed cord with exposed wiring. I guess Dad had a point: drilling through his hand was a “minor problem” compared to getting electrocuted.
I knew it was pointless to get Dad to tend to his hand. So I made him an offer he wouldn’t refuse: to personally replace the frayed cord on this drill…FREE! He happily agreed. So I wrapped this clunker in an old, faded newspaper—securing it with a rubber band—and put it in the trunk of my car. Dad smiled, imagining this antiquated instrument would be brought back better than new, and maybe picturing himself using it to rebuilt the rotted-out picnic table in the backyard. I smiled too, knowing Dad would never get his hands on this weapon again.
Loving the information on this web site, you have done great job on the content.
[WORDPRESS HASHCASH] The poster sent us ‘1897287552 which is not a hashcash value.
Wow, marvelous blog layout! How long have you been blogging for? you make blogging look easy. The overall look of your site is excellent, as well as the content!
I like the helpful information you provide in your articles. I will bookmark your weblog and check again here regularly. I’m quite sure I’ll learn many new stuff right here! Best of luck for the next!
Wow! This can be one particular of the most beneficial blogs We’ve ever arrive across on this subject. Basically Wonderful. I am also a specialist in this topic therefore I can understand your hard work.
Pretty nice post. I just stumbled upon your weblog and wanted to say that I’ve really enjoyed surfing around your blog posts. After all I will be subscribing to your feed and I hope you write again soon!
Normally I do not read article on blogs, but I wish to say that this write-up very pressured me to check out and do so! Your writing style has been amazed me. Thank you, quite great article.
I have read several just right stuff here. Definitely value bookmarking for revisiting. I surprise how a lot attempt you place to create the sort of great informative web site.
You have brought up a very excellent points , thankyou for the post.