While oohing and aahing over the wood floors discovered underneath the torn-up carpet and while chatting with our contractor on the phone about interior doors, yesterday, I stepped on a nail connected to a piece of wood.
The nail went through my shoe and . . . well, into my foot.
I'm not exactly sure what I said to the contractor completely. I just remember saying, "I have to call my husband."
And that I did.
While he was figuring out how to get to me quickly, I hobbled to the front porch, where one of the construction guys, the painter, and the dry wall fella all hovered around me, asking various questions. I just kept saying, ahem, yelling, "Don't touch my foot." Each one tried to convince me to let him pull it out. Not. on. this. planet. pal.
Twenty minutes later, the hubs arrives complete with first aid kit. After some talking, he pulls out the nail. And thankfully, it had not pierced me very deeply. It felt so much better after it was removed.
But guess where we were headed? Yep, the ol' emergency room--for the second time four days. Thank heavens, there was no wait and I had my Tetanus last year. So no needles for me. I'd had enough puncture for one day.
If you know me at all, you know I HATE needles with a strong, unwavering, eternal passion. So here I am in a hospital for the second time in one week . . . a hospital full of needles . . . because I had a nail in my foot.
The irony? While I waited on the doctor in the ER, Bryan went to pick up Anna's epipen. Now I carry a needle in my purse! A needle is always with me.
I'm about to faint just writing this. :-)
1 comment:
I have the same irrational fear of needles, Emily!
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