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Cosmic Irony Or Karma? I Ax YouAug 08 '08 Write an essay on this topic.
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The Bottom Line Trailer Tales 2008
In my past few reviews, the topic of Schadenfreude has come up. For those who don’t know, this is the concept of people finding pleasure or amusement at the pain or discomfort of others. According to comedienne Sarah Silverman, it’s German for “Hey look... that Jew fell down.” We are all guilty of this transgression, myself probably more than others, and I have therefore deemed it acceptable to also find pleasure and amusement at my own discomfort and/or pain. I call this Shmoodenfreude and what you are about to read is, I believe, a classic example. Please feel free to use this word liberally. I’d like to see it catch on. Hell, I may even create a write off. Our story begins... Where to begin this one? Short version or long? I guess to truly savor the experience we have to go the long way around. Sorry if your attention span lacks the capacity to handle a few thousand words but... Our story begins a year ago, in the wilds of Bellwood Lake. A year ago to this day pretty much, before Coco Shmoo had ripped screaming from his mother’s womb and graced our lives. The wife and I have a trailer that we go to on week-ends. It conjures up some pretty bo-hunk images, but sits nestled in a forest on a hill near a lake and allows my tribe to commune with nature on the week-ends, so I don’t mind. My daughter will know how to swim and water-ski... my son will play with bugs and won’t be afraid to get his hands dirty. I can live with the scorn and snide comments because the perks definitely out weigh them. My wife’s parents (or as my toddler daughter calls them “Pappa and Dude”) have a place right near us. He (pappa) long ago got over the notion that I was banging his daughter and we have become pretty good friends. In truth, we started out as pretty good friends. We ski, golf, drink beer and generally enjoy each others company. We also enjoy each others pain. Last year, he slipped on a wet boat dock and tore his upper hamstring. I called it ripping his t’aint and even received the ire of a few folks here in epi-land when I included the phrase in a review that was geared towards family and children . I spent much of the year chuckling at him. I mentioned it a few times around the Epi club-house, I oohed and aahhed at the rainbow spectrum of color that his bruise turned and I may have even written a small piece on Facebook illustrating the importance of camper safety. Schadenfreude. It took him several months before he could walk properly and it still pains him on damp days. This past Saturday, August the second, he and I were draining our king cans of imported beer (this year it’s Stella for him and Tuborg for me) and I reminded him of his annual luck. You see, every year he has to go to emergency for some reason. Three years ago, his “other” grandson was bit in the face by a yappy little white hair ball that I laughingly call a dog, two years ago the same grandson broke his arm when his brother tired of him and tossed him off a bed and last year it was his t’aint. I hypothesized about what was coming. We were just about do for an emergency run and I figured it would be a new person with a new injury. Brian laughed at it in a resigned way, much as he does most of the jokes I have at his expense. The next day I decided that we were going to have a big campfire and therefore I would need to split a pile of wood. He and I had completed a substantial wood run earlier in the year that harvested log after log of soft lumber. Now, for those who aren’t aware, splitting hardwood and splitting softwood take different techniques. When you chop hard wood, the ax will probably go right through the center with the ease of hitting a vase with a sledge hammer, however if you use the same stroke for soft wood, the ax will bury itself as if you have just sunk it in to a healthy piece of raw meat (notice the analogy) or a soft piece of clay. You need to chip away at the outer edges of soft wood. It’s a pain and it’s tiring and it’s time consuming. After about half an hour, I had chipped my way through three logs and was whiped out. I took one last swing at the wood and winced as the ax missed the wood entirely and whacked my leg. There was a full five count before what I had done registered. Calmly I flipped the ax back in to the chopping stump and shook my head with disgust. A resigned sucking noise escaped between my teeth and I sighed long and hard. “Tell me that you didn’t just put an ax into your leg.” my brain asked the rest of my body. I looked down, hoping that it was at best a glancing blow. No such luck. “Wow...that’s a pile of blood.” My brain informed me. The rest of my body let my brain know that it could shut up and stop stating the obvious. As calmly as I could, I walked to the front door. If I was shaken, she would be shaken and would react badly. “Lee...” I called, “I think I might need some peroxide and maybe a damp clean cloth.” My wife wandered in to view and let her eyes casually cascade down my body to see what was wrong. When they hit my leg they stopped and bulged. “Oh no... was that the Ax?” “Yup.” “Are you OK?” “I think so...” Many thoughts clearly fought for control of her mouth and the next words through her lips were “COOOOOOL!!! Can I take a picture?” I smiled in spite of every thing. At least her first reaction had been one of concern. “Knock yourself out. Peroxide and cloth first though. No... not that one, that’s our good tea towel.” Once I had poured about half a bottle of cleaning fluid in the wound, Lee re-appeared with the digital camera. “I’m using the “Flower” setting for maximum detail and color resolution.” Always thinking, that girl of mine. In the mean time, while she was playing Ansel Adams, I was checking out the wound, amazed at how little flesh came between my skin and my bones and equally amazed that the bleeding had already pretty much stopped. “Bleeding has already pretty much stopped... I don’t think I have to go to the hospital.” She gave me a look that spoke in waves her opinion of my stupidity. “That’s exposed bone. Think again tough guy.” I sighed once more (doing a lot of sighing here) and she trotted up to get her mom so that we wouldn’t have to leave the dog to baby sit the two kids. Soon after, a herd of people thundered in my direction. You’d be amazed at how the words “Mike had an accident with the ax” draws a crowd. My neighbor, The Chuck, summed it up best when he said in awe “Dude, it looks like you have a vagina in your leg...” Father-In- Law lovingly offered to drive me to the hospital. He wasn’t going to miss this year’s trip, especially since it really involved him in no way. In Canada, the first person you talk to in emergency isn’t the financial administrator but the triage nurse. When a hospital doesn’t have to worry about how you’re going to pay for your medical visit, it definitely speeds up the process. “Nature of Accident.” “Ax.” Raised eyebrow... “Can I see?” “Sure.” “ooooooooh... Nice. I’ll put a clean bandage on that. Were you drinking?” “No, I wish I could blame booze... but no.” “Any allergies?” “No.” “You’re pretty calm about this.” “No real reason to freak out now.” She directed me in to a small room and told me the doctor would be right with me. An IV bag with penicillin was punched in to my left hand and a tetanus shot was punched in to the meat behind my left shoulder The nurses were short handed so my wife was asked to irrigate the wound with an IV drip. She’s a TLC junky, so needless to say she was in seventh heaven. With in the hour a man in scrubs, who had obviously been awake for far too long, wandered in to the room. “Can I ask you some questions?” I asked. “So long as it pertains to your injury... yea, I don’t see why not.” “That IS bone... isn’t it?” “Oh yea that’s bone. You went in to the bone.” A mental post-it stuck itself to the inside of my head reading “Note: Bragging rights and story level have just been raised.” A momentary thought of me talking about wiggling the ax out of my tibia while it made squeaky, “eak-eak”, blackboard noises was considered and then discarded. “Well the next obvious question I guess is “Why doesn’t this hurt more?”. “Well, there aren’t a lot of nerve endings where you hit. If it’s pain you want, just wait. The freezing is going to sting like hell and I have to peal back the skin a bit to make sure the wound is cleaned.” At the same time that I gave him a weak giggle, trying to let him know that I was actually quite pleased with the low amount of pain, my wife offered him a look of disgust that he was questioning her first time attempt at cleaning a wound. “Lack of blood?” “See question 2.” “Gotcha… well, get on with getting’ on and do what you have to do.” Doc Tiredguy wasn’t lying. The freezing actually hurt worse than the ax, but at least it stopped me from feeling him pulling my skin apart with tweezers or the 5 stitches that he dumped in. In the few days since, it hasn’t really hurt any worse. Everything looks to be healing nicely and there has been no redness around the wound at all. I have to make an appointment in about another week to get the stitches out, but otherwise... nothing. No limp, no real pain... no reason to milk it. I’ve even stopped wearing a bandage on it unless I’m outside. But I love telling the story. Guys especially get that awesome wince when you graphically describe an ax going in to your leg bone, sort of like when they imagine someone being kicked in the jewels really hard. ...and I get to revel in my newly found word of Shmoodenfreude, and hopefully entertain you all at the same time… and if I’m not here for your entertainment, then who is. The following day I amended my prediction. I say that next year it's Lee's turn and that she will suffer either an electrical injury or accidentally ingest poison of some kind. The beauty of this is that if the summer is nearing an end and nothing has happened, I can fulfill the the prophecy with out her knowledge. By the way, the picture turned out great. Shmoo out for now.  |
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