I've probably never mentioned how accident prone my hubby is. From the swimming dirt clod fight that led to a badly broken arm; to the sheep fencing building stint that led to three fingernails being painfully removed - he's done it all. He's the type of guy that should buy stock in Neosporin and Tetnus and then maybe some additional in Bandaids and Ace wrap. I'm proud to say that for better or for worse, I've been there for him through each of his "incidents." I'm known for being supportive and not making too much fun of him for the stupid thing(s) he did to wreck whatever body part.

This little history brings us to yesterday's terrifying event... I had just gotten home for work and walked into my house when I noticed that everyone seemed to be gathered around one point in the house - our master bedroom. As I walk into the room, I see a rather pastey looking hubby, lying on our bed with only his undies and a tattered t-shirt on. His mom is standing to his side and I at first think to myself, "Yeah. This is a little weird. Why the hell is he sitting there talking to him mom in his nasty drawers?"

Once I take it all in, I finally notice that he has a cut on his knee and he informs me that he had a fight with the chainsaw while attempting to cut firewood. In a quiet plea for more sympathy (with lip trembles, I might add), he tells me, "I was just trying to provide for the family" He later tells me that there was a tear in his eye during his explanation, but yeah, whatever. I then proceed to bandage up the wound the best that I can and I drive him to the ER. I can't help but have visions of the Three Stooges dancing through my head, especially the episode where one of them has the long piece of wood and whacks the other two in the head. But I digress...what a cold-hearted witch I sound like to be smiling at my hubby's fiasco.

We finally get to the ER where we're greeted by a full waiting room of patients. Due to a past life I lived, I knew several of the players, errr...I mean patients. There was Thomas the tweeker with a meth abscess on his wrist that was totally infected; Brooke the single mom with a sick baby, and a whiny fat old lady in a wheel chair that shrieked whenever someone hit or touched her foot. Her old fat hubby was so sick of her that he just parked her chair and then sat across the room to quietly read the latest addition of Good Housekeeping.

We sat there for over an hour and a half, when Taterbug (who wanted to go as a support person - but in reality the idea of stitches was sooo fascinating, especially since they weren't going in her) noticed that hubby's leg was again oozing. After a plea for more four by fours (gauze), they finally put us in a room and came in to have a look. The nurses and doctor all seemed so excited to hear that hubby had been attacked by a chainsaw. The look of disappointment was clearly visibile on their faces when they saw the actual injury. What a sick bunch of weirdos!

After another hour, the doctor came in and began the process of fixing hubby up. She matter of factly told hubby, "Ok, this is really going hurt," as she began to inject the numbing solution into the wound. And it did. He winced but held in the tears that were quickly forming in his eyes (ok, that's a little stretch but I had to add that comment in for my brother). She then deftly put in six stitches while my goofy hubby informed her that he watches "alot of ER" and that "Dr. Kovatch don't got nothin' on you." The doctor, apparently also familiar with ER, began to laugh and promptly dropped her scissors on the floor. We had to wait for a nurse to bring her a new set and hubby kept his mouth shut for the rest of the stitching.

When she was finally done, I took poor hubby home and then dragged him out to dinner with Gun-Gun. We went to a local brewery that was having a "Peanuts on the Floor" night, so the normal projectiles of chewed food that Gun-Gun likes to disperse, went unnoticed on the dirty floor. After a delicious dinner of greasy goodness, I took him home and put him to bed. It was a good day to have over.