Baptized in my own Blood. - Journals

MumFerg's Journal

Baptized in my own Blood.
Dec 2, 2008 at 3:35 PM
By
- MumFerg
Message Friend Invite
Comments (6) Total Views (91) Everyone can see this journal post.

Prev Next

It took four years after my marriage. But it is offical, I am a member of the Ferguson Clan. The annointment is your own blood while trying to fix something.

The morning was only unusal, by my husband purchasing and dumping $75 dollars worth of plug product down the drain (literally). After some gruggling sounds, he announced "Problem Solved". I went on with my day. Breakfast, dishes, made dinner in crock pot, and gave Evelyn her bath. But as I went downstairs I realized the fumes of drain-o and a kitten's cry for help was not a good sign. In the corner poor Ylena was stuck high with no escape from the pond in our storage room. I rescued her and began working. Frustrated no doubt, but determined I can handle the pressure.

I called Roto Rooter and drained my mop into the bucket for a sound of effects of 'please get here sooner than later'. Evelyn got fussing and I begged my husband to get up and play with her as I cleaned the mess and I promised to call in to work so he can sleep.

The mess was mighty. And I decided the wet vac would be more powerful against the gallons. I step out of my wet shoes and ran to the garage. Reminding myself that walking in a cold garage with socks was ignorant, but I assure myself, just to get the job done-I had to do it. I got back down stairs to find that I grapped the two prong extension cord. I swore (yes i swore.) I told myself, it was OK to cry. I would feel better, but the tears didn't come. Just the lump in my throat at the building frustrations.

I got to the garage and spotted the cord, reached for it, and step back on top of what, I would learn very quickly was a glass beer bottle in our trash sack. The same beer I proudly bought for my husband this last week in reward for his long hours at work. Damn you Blouvard Wheat!

My pride and strength was shattered like the bottle. There was the tears. And it wasn't pain. It was pride. I hobbled in sobbing to my husband as I applied pressure. He demanded I came to him so he could understand. As I dripped blood across the floor, i asked for the first aid kit.

I could see the look in his John Wayne eyes', lace it up and walk it off. "If it's a man job, than I better do it myself." I could almost here him thinking out load. He stomped down to the basement and finished the clean up as I nursed the 'merely a flesh wound'. Stitches. Perhaps. But I am always up to the first aid challenge. (Maybe that is why I a married into the family.) After applying pressure for twenty minutes, I cleaned it up and used butterfly bandages, guaze and tape to health thy self. I will monitor it and make sure it doesn't turn green.

Silver lining? I didn't go to work today and I played with Evelyn while the drained got snaked. It appears someone has been flushing baby wipes or Clorex wipes down the drain. Not I said the Mum. That leaves only one other adult flusher in the house.

So I am on the injuried list this week for work outs, and it is all about eating healthy and maintaining. And yes I ate a piece of carrot cake for lunch to heal my pride, and yes it worked.

And now I take my shower!

Add A Comment