Wednesday, August 8, 2007

Not the Swollen Extremity I Was Hoping For

The DNB's thumb is mangled and purple!

It happens as we learn that the kitchen entrance way is many times narrower than the front door. We are carrying a heavy Ikea cabinet that the DNB has been assembling for days on our screened porch. In a tribute to the DNB's ability to follow Directions Without Words, only 5-6 extra parts are still strewn about the floor. For Ikea purchases, this is considered standard.

The DNB slows his backwards steps as we approach the entrance way, but I remain on pace, hurtling the cabinet forward toward the back wall of the kitchen. As his thumb crunches between the cabinet and the door frame, the DNB utters a guttural moan. I would have been sobbing, but he carries on admirably until the cabinet is in its place (-50 Gay Points, at least).

We examine the damage. His thumb has swollen up instantly, and he can't bend it.

"Should we go to the hospital?" I ask, worried.

"No," the DNB says, grimacing. "Help me wrap some tape around it."

I wrap his finger tightly with tape, and crush some ice in a plastic bag.

"At least I have an accidental death and dismemberment clause in my benefits package," the DNB jokes.

"I really think we should go to the hospital, just in case," I say again.

"I'm fine," he replies, making sure his hand is elevated.

"I know, but still . . . " I trail off. "I just want to be sure you're okay."

"Baby, I'm a doctor!" he says, exasperated. It's the first time he's played the whole I'm A Doctor card, so I pipe down. "I'm fine," he reiterates.

And then later I know he is, when he whines from the couch, "My thumb hurts. Can you carry me to bed?"

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