Well not really but it seemed like it at the time.
The other evening about 10:30 at night my husband decides to go out to the garage aka take your life into your own hands room. He steps across a large tub doubling as a table holding cut pieces of tile.
Yeah, you guessed it. He jabs himself in the underside of his knee. I'm not in the medical profession so I don't know what the technical term for it is.
He comes dripping blood all through the house to our master bathroom at the farthest back part of the house.
Now if you've read my earlier blogs you know that I don't do blood. It's in my marriage vows.
He does blood and I do poop and puke.
So I'm getting woozy, my life is passing before my eyes and I see stars.
I was perfectly sober before this all happened.
He asks me to get the first aid kit. I stagger down the hall to the medicine cabinet and get the small plastic tub that holds our bandages and ointment.
I never use the stuff, I just make sure it's well stocked for people like my husband who like to hurt themselves.
My hands are shaking. I can't concentrate. He's giving me instructions from the bathroom. I hand him his tape and gauze like a drunk nurse while he tapes himself up.
I didn't take a picture of the gaping hole because well, frankly, I'm getting nauteous just describing it to you.
He should have had stitches but being the tough guy aka tight wad that he is we (he) taped it up at home.