Notes from Norman

Nurse Ann to the Rescue

I’m not as smart as some people, as evidenced by my run-in with the saw. On the other hand Burl and Ruby Bales didn’t raise a fool when they guided me through the tender years of life. When I chose a life partner, I chose “Nurse Ann.” I didn’t marry her because she’s a nurse, but I’ll have to admit that it was a pretty good deal – like buying a pair of shoes, and having the salesman throw in a pair of socks for the same price.

I went howling into the den, holding my arm. She said, “What did you do?” You’ve got to understand why that was the natural question to ask. Not only did she obtain a college degree in nursing, and become a board certified RN in three states, she also earned a degree in psychology, which is why “What did you do?” was the first question. You’ve got to deal with angst before you get to the bloody stuff. However she didn’t ask, “Why did you do it?” She knows that “why” isn’t considered a therapeutic question. I’m glad she didn’t refer me to a psychiatrist.

Once she got therapy out of the way, she got down to the business of nursing. Fortunately I was wearing a long sleeved shirt. I didn’t see a lot of damage, but of course I couldn’t see through my shirtsleeve. She said, “Roll up your sleeve.” I really didn’t like what I saw. I had a three-inch gash across the inner side of my forearm and it was dripping blood. Since I suffer from a hereditary bleeding condition, it can get scary if you bleed in the wrong place. I was hoping I didn’t have any HHT lesions anywhere along the gash.

The first order of business was damage assessment. She cleaned the wound with hydrogen peroxide in order to determine how much damage was done. I was glad she didn’t choose alcohol as the cleansing agent. There was good news and scary news. The gash was reasonably superficial. The scary news was the fact that it missed my blood vessel by less than an inch. I am most grateful.

When I first began dating Ann, I thought nurses were supposed to be gentle, soothing, and sympathetic. Well she is that, but she also kicks assertiveness into high gear. Once I realized the wound looks a lot worse than it is, I began to make plans to complete the project. She assured me that I would be doing no such thing. I protested, “But somebody’s got to put the saw up, and get my project out of the way.” My “project” – a bookcase - was spread out on the floor of our bedroom with no room to walk around. I thought this would probably not be the best time to initiate a discussion about asserting male authority. She let me know the stuff in the way wasn’t my problem. I acquiesced all though I was still wondering how she was going to clear out all those obstacles.

She prepared an ice pack and ordered me to sit in a chair with my arm held high in the air. Perhaps “ordered” isn’t the best choice of words, but she didn’t say, “Sweetheart, honey-bun, sugar, I’d really like it if you would hold your hand in the air.” It was supposed to prevent edema – that’s nurse talk for swelling. Think about holding your hand up for a long time waiting for the teacher to let you talk in class. Eventually she brought me a pillow and let me rest it against the back of my recliner. After she let me take it back down, I got up and tried to do a few things, and realized my range of motion was severely restricted, and my arm strength was practically gone. I brushed my teeth, but it was a struggle. Believe it or not, she put up my saw (in the right place) and picked up the bookcase.

She crammed my mouth full of medications, covered the wound with antibiotic cream and sent me to bed. To let you know the whole story, she reaffirmed her love, and expressed her gratitude for my avoidance of serious injury. I slept well and was surprised to find that much of my range of motion had returned the next morning. By afternoon I was able to go out and rake the yard. However, my arm strength leaves a lot to be desired.

My arm still looks bad. I showed it to one of my friends, a macho tough guy type, and I thought I saw him turn pale. So I’m wearing long sleeved shirts and careful about who I allow to look at it. This morning I had to fight the women off at church. That was because they wanted to hug me on the right side, and it just wouldn’t work.

posted by Norman @ 5:44 PM