There was this one teensy-weensy, widddle-teeny-tiny thing I left off of last Saturday’s 11-miler recap.
Just a lil’ thang.
And really . . . it didn’t belong on that post anyway because that post was, of course, all about me. As all posts are supposed to be. Duh.
This will make a wonderful bedtime story. It goes like this:
I had just finished running 11 miles, climbed into the van, unwrapped a protein bar and headed home. (Isn’t this story exciting already?!)
When I walked in the door, two of the children were up getting snacks before breakfast. My girl told me my man was out for a quick training ride and should be back soon. My running clothes were literally dripping sweat all over the floor, so I did a quick change of clothes.
As I walked back into the kitchen to get breakfast going, my man was walking into the house with his bike.
He had blood dripping from his face. His shirt was ripped and torn in places.
Yes, I gasped. Out loud.
Then, I asked a gazillion questions.
“What happened? Are you okay? Did you call me? Did you try to call me? Why didn’t you call me? Where were you at? Did anyone help you? Are you okay?”
You get the general idea.
His arms and face were bleeding and I naturally assumed I was looking at the worst of his injuries.
He jumped . . . . okay, not really jumped . . . more like limped to the shower. That’s when I saw it.
It. Was. So. Bad. Y’all.
He looked like he had been beaten with a baseball bat.
His backside, which I quite admire, was . . . ::shiver:: I can’t even describe it.
That’s when I started to feel it. The nausea. The dark tunnel closing in. The floor began to sway.
And he needed me. He needed me to clean his wounds. To dress his wounds.
I would start to clean one of the wounds and then I would have to sit down. On the ground. With my head between my legs.
I’d wait a few seconds and say, “Okay. I’m good. I can do this.”
Then, I’d stand up and make it for another ten seconds or so before I had to sit back down.
Also, I’m pretty sure I said, “I don’t feel so good” about fifty times while he was patiently standing there. With road rash. Bleeding. Bruises slowly beginning to surface. Ooooh, the irony. ::snort::
After going back and forth with “Yes, I can do this” and “I CAN’T DO THIS!”, I decided to just go lay on the couch and yell directions at him from another room.
That’s what a loving wife does.
She yells at her injured husband and makes him clean his own wounds.
I should give lessons to young wives. This is how you care for your husbands.
The story of the accident: He was on a road he was unfamiliar with, came upon a sharp turn on a downhill portion, couldn’t slow down fast enough and flipped several times into a deep, gravel ditch. He was going about 40 mph.
Let me repeat.
He was going about 40 mph.
After straightening his handlebars and seat back out, he climbed on his bike and road the eight-ish miles home.
Thank the Lord he was not injured more seriously.
He’s healing slowly. The swelling, which was really bad, is almost completely gone. The bruising is ugly and it’s going to take a while to fade. He’s been resting since the accident, but hopes to head back out this Saturday for a short ride. I know he’s anxious to get back in the saddle.
P. S. I have since been researching local nursing programs. I think I could really make it far in that field.
what a story! i think i gasped out loud reading about him going so fast and flipping. i’m so glad your husband is ok though! (and i’m the exact same way. i have an accident-prone husband sometimes. i have to take many breaks to get through the cleaning of wounds… sheesh.)
Your husband and mine sound very similar. Adam road bikes, too, but last summer tried out mountain biking. His second ride out he apparently mis-took a tree root and went head over handle bars. He was so frustrated at himself, he pushed his bike back up and rode down the trail again, this time successfully (thank goodness). He then rode the several miles home. And it wasn’t until the next morning when he literally couldn’t move his arm that he thought something might be wrong. Turns out he’d smashed his elbow. As in, smashed to so many pieces they couldn’t count how many. Geeze. I guess I’m thankful he’s that tough. I’m sure you know exactly what I mean since you sound almost as wussy (is that how you’d spell it?) as I am!
Good times…..
OOOOH my gosh, I am the same way about injuries!! Even someone describing an injury over the phone makes me feel like i am going to pass out. I am glad he’s healing up!!
HA! This is SO me …
Several years ago my mom had to have some skin cancer removed from her face, near her nose. When they operate they remove a section and check all the borders to see if they got it all. While they do this, they put a temporary bandage in place and send them back the waiting room to hang out. So, I agreed to join my mom for company, but would not under any circumstances be going back and holding her hand. Sorry Mom, you’re on your own. So, a few rounds of this and they decide they got it all and stitch her back up, put on her dressings, etc. A nurse comes out into the waiting room and tells me I can come back. Uhm, no thanks, I’m good, send her out when she’s ready. Oh no, she goes on and on about how it’s fine, it’s all done, there isn’t any blood etc. So I trust her and go back. I walk into the room and the first thing I zero in on is the wastebasket full of bloody bandages … oh my word. Room spinning, getting really hot, everything getting fuzzy. Oh yeah, I knew I was about to faint so I smartly lay down on the floor to avoid a full on head smack on the floor (this happened in college). The nurse has to take the ice pack FROM MY MOM WHO HAS JUST HAD SURGERY and give it to her wimpy on the floor daughter who is supposed to be her ride home. SHEESH … we still laugh about that one and how I managed to make it ALL ABOUT ME!!
Sending you an e-mail tonight on OR ideas … for reals, promise, promise … you’ve been ‘on my list’ for days
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UGH! Glad he is ok. SCAREY!
Oh no!! I am glad he is okay. I know three people that have broken collar bones that way!! No more unfamiliar roads for him!!
oh my. that is so terrible. what an awful ride home too! i bet that was the worst day!!!
I can’t believe he rode the eight miles home! Yowza! Glad he’s feeling better! And I’m glad you didn’t faint.
And this is why you wear helmets! So glad he’s okay!
!!!! Yikes !!!! So glad he’s okay — how scary. I would have had a hard time keeping myself together too. ((hugs))
Oh, Ruthanne…this nearly made me pee my pants! You nut!
Glad he’s beginning to heal!!!
I am glad he is O K!! You can be thankful that HE is NOT a wimp!!