My alarm was set to go off at 8:15 on Sunday morning, so you can imagine my dismay when I heard Claire’s voice calling my name at 7:59.  I had made it so close to my goal of 8:15 – it was close enough to taste, and definitely too close to crawl back in bed and try for more sleep.  I rolled out of bed and walked stumbled clumsily down the hallway into Claire’s room, scooped her up, and trudged back to our bedroom.  As I walked back through the doorway, the dog gate which I had hastily slid to the side of the door was hanging out just a bit into my path.  I bumped into it with my leg, knocking it to the ground, and then caught my pinky toe in one of the slats.  As I stumbled, my only thought was Don’t fall – I can’t drop Claire.  (Feel free to nominate me for Mom of the Year.)  I managed to stay on my feet and walked around to my side of the bed, deposited Claire onto the pillow, and started to lie down.  You should know that me bumping into things is a daily occurrence, and “severely” stubbing my toe happens about once a week, so this morning was not really unusual.  I did notice at this point, however, that my toe felt wet.  Upon further investigation I discovered that my toe was, in fact, cut and bleeding.

I notified Chris (still slumbering peacefully at 8:04) of my injury.  You should know that Chris was up a large part of the night with an upset stomach.  After only two calls from me and a few pokes from Claire, he was up, and immediately came to tend to my wound.  (I’ve already nominated him for Husband of the Year.)  Chris called upon Claire for assistance and she was happy to help by turning on the overhead light (she’s brilliant) and getting a flashlight.

Upon close inspection of my toe, Chris got nauseated.  (Flashback to 2004.  Chris and I were married for 3 months and living in our first apartment.  While using a paring knife to cut brownies (any true chef’s first choice for cutting baked goods), I cut my hand pretty badly and Chris had to take me to the ER for stitches.  I was instructed to come back in a week to have them removed, but by that time I realized the uselessness in seeing a doctor again to do something as simple as pulling out stitches.  I recruited Chris for this task and as he went in with the tweezers to get the first stitch, the same look of queasiness spread upon his face.  He was unable to continue.  {I am convinced that his weak stomach only shows up in association with one of my injuries because of his strong aversion to seeing me in pain, which is pretty sweet.} Anyway, refusing to pay money to go back to the doctor as he suggested, and disgusted with his inability to continue with the task at hand, I proceeded to remove all the stitches out of my own hand.  {Feel free to nominate me for Woman vs. Wild.})

Anyway, back to Sunday morning.  Chris suggested that we contact his sister, Audrey, who is about to graduate from nursing school.  I, on the other hand, suggested that we just stick the toe back together with superglue.  What a quandary.  We did go ahead and call Audrey and she advised seeing a doctor.  However, I managed to convince Chris of the stellar history superglue has in my medical history.  (Flashback to 2002.  I was living in the dorms at Southwestern and back at school early from Christmas break for basketball practice.  As I was jumping down from my top bunk one evening, I landed on my Bible and cut my toe to the bone.  Recognizing that I needed help, and knowing that I was the only one currently on my hall, I hobbled down my hall and then the stairs to the basement, leaving a trail of blood behind me.  While at the ER, I was informed that it’s impossible to sew “creases” like we have on the underside of our toes, and that the doctor planned to glue the cut closed.  The doctor also suggested that if the injury should pop back open, I could save myself a second trip to the ER and just superglue it myself, which I later did.)

So, we went the superglue route.  Chris mustered his strength, cleaned my wound, and then glued it shut.  Sweet Claire, who recently told us she is planning to be a nurse when she grows up, was such a great helper.  She held the flash light for Chris, brought me a book to read, and rubbed my arm.  If she does end up being a nurse, I am certain she’ll be an amazing one.


And poor Chris, always putting up with me and my silly injuries.  For awhile he banned me from cutting with a paring knife.  Now I may be banned from waking up and getting Claire in the mornings.

Hey, that may not be so bad…


One thought on “Superglue

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