The hospital and myself do not get along. Everytime I enter that scary place I feel as though I am going to have a panic attack and last night was no exception.
Yesterday was a fantastic day. The housework was done in the morning and bike riding was enjoyed in the afternoon. Then everything turned shit. It all started with turning the oven on for dinner. The damn thing smoked the fucking house out which lead to us deciding not to use it until it was given a complete scrub out the following day. Hindsight is oh so damn awesome. Paul decided to use the electric whisk to beat some eggs for dinner and when the blade chose to fall out, he had the not so good idea of pushing it back in while his other hand was near the power button. And then there was blood.
The culprit.
My mother (who lives across the road) came to the rescue with looking after Master Wyatt while I drove Paul to the hospital, which is about a 30 minute drive on a good day. He does not make a good passenger!
Paul had to have 3 local injections to numb his finger which gave him an insight to what I have been through with all the ones I have had over the past few months and he did not like it. I don't blame him. Admittance for surgery, due to his finger being a hell of a mess and being that the silly bugger had hit bone, was almost carried out but the on-call surgeon decided to wait any longer would just increase the risk of him losing his finger so it was decided that stitches would hopefully suffice and help it heal, which meant being able to come home the same night thankfully. Fuck having to drive home then back again the next day, I hate that fucking place! I also would of had feelings of guilt and sadness if I ended up having to leave him there. Now I know how he felt the times he has had to leave me in that horrid place.
Looking incredibly good after stitches and a cleanout.
Today has challenged me and had me near breaking point a few times. I managed to trap my finger in pliers and Master Wyatt had a couple of falls which resulted in tears. I have felt anger towards Paul for being such a stupid moronic fool and ending up being a one-handed idiot, thus leaving me to have to work harder and attempt to take control of everything. Well, control is not happening. More like chaos. I would be safer in a den of lions I am certain. Master Wyatt has chosen today to be a temperamental little shit which does not help matters. Why can he not just understand that Daddy is more handicapped than usual and cannot be used as a jungle gym right now. 15 month olds are hard bloody work at times and then some.
I do understand where Paul is coming from. I know what it is like to be limited and have to rely on others more than usual. I also know what it is like to be stubborn and to like feeling helpful, which is also what he is doing. He really is trying, and he feels like shit which I totally sympathise with. I am trying to be as understanding as possible, which should not be at all hard for me, but why the hell did he have to have his hand near the bloody power button?!
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