Additional Trama...

Clearly, I am NOT a true cyclist or I would not be recovering from injuries. Yes, I ride a bike, but not very well! *laughing* To top the whole thing off, I get out of the shower - wounds bleeding profusely from a fresh scrubbing - and the only towels hanging on the rack are glistening, sparkling and gleaming white. So I call out for my medic and he is No Where to be found. With a few small tears of defeat trickling down my cheek and thoughts of “why did he leave when I’m INJURED?” I hobble naked to the guest bathroom and grab the first towel ‘of color’ that I can find. I wrap it around myself and reach for some toilet paper to dab off the excess blood that has run and it sticks here and there on my sticky-fresh wounds. Completely losing my composure, I begin sobbing and calling out his name as I wander through every room of the house. I expand the search the surrounding area of the backyard and garage for my missing medic. I even call his cell phone (the same one that was on his person during the earlier wreck) and as it is ringing in my ear, I hear the familiar tune jingling in the computer room. Of course.

Unable to locate my doctor I go back to the bathroom, pull out the hydrogen peroxide and proceed to pour it UNdiluted onto each of my wounds. HOLY MOLY!!!!!!!!! Woweeee-Oweee, it takes a moment to hit, just long enough for me to douse ALL of the wounds. SO - Now I’m crying even harder because my ankle, knees, the heel of my hand and my elbow are all bubbling, bleeding and ON FIRE. This is when I make the horrible discovery that it is humanly impossible to blow directly onto one’s own elbow, or for that matter, to blow in all those places at the same time.

Steaming mad and resolved in my determination to find husband, I go out the front door - crying, wrapped only in a towel with spots of toilet paper strategically placed here and there - and spot said ‘medic’ a few doors down ON MY BIKE at the neighbor’s house. I start waving one hand madly over my head while holding the towel with my other. It takes much restraint on my behalf to not scream his name at the top of my lungs. Either the display of skin or my wild waving finally go his attention. He races home and I start with the “...I... would... nev..errrr ..lee..ave... youuu... if... you... wer..re... hurrrt...” “...I... can..n’t... ...blow... on... my... owwwn... elll...bow!...”

He treats my wounds with much love and pity while I whimper and be as pathetic as possible. All is forgiven. Eventually. I guess the neighbor had gotten a brand new belt-sander and it was “Really Nice!”...