Thursday, September 27, 2018

The Machine From Hell

Meet the DR Brush Cutter, a mini version of a bush hog.  Great for getting in places a tractor can't.  The powerful blades can mow down a pesky sweet gum tree up to 3" in diameter.

I used to be in love with it. But, the brute flung me around for hours on Tuesday afternoon, slammed me into trees, attempted to remove my shoulders from their sockets and tangled me in thorny vines.  Yet, I persisted, finishing at dusk.

For supper, I was making lasagna one handed, as the swelling in my left wrist had gotten so painful that my arm couldn't raise itself, nor did my fingers open.

With a full belly of lasagna, I went to bed, hoped to sleep and figured it would be better in the morning.  Well, I was wrong and when Flynn (Mother Goose) arrived, he read me the Riot Act, detoured me from the barn and sent me on my way to the Urgent Care Clinic.
The Doctor at the clinic refused to treat me further when he saw how red and swollen it was, raising the concern that I had an aggressive bone infection brewing.
To the hospital then!  What I want to be doing on a Wednesday morning. Argh. 

No firm diagnosis, but three in the works: possible hairline fracture, torn ligaments and deep infection.  Infection possibly caused by working in the lake with cuts all over my arms on Saturday. Can't win sometimes.

After a shot of something in the butt and some of the finest pain meds they can administer, I was cut loose with enough drugs to fill my vitamin dispensing pack for a week.  I just love pumping my body full of chemicals. 

I laughed until I almost cried when I saw the Doctor's note to stay out of work for a week. Sure, whatever, like I listen to good advice.  As soon as I'd gotten home and I was sure Mother Goose wasn't looking, I fired the DR Cutter up and drove it around the lawn one handed, just to let it know I was still in charge.  I blame the pain meds for that decision.

The rest of the afternoon was spend cooking up a stock pot full of Peter's vegetable and chicken mix for his, as of yet unsuccessful, weight loss regiment.
With lightning popping outside, my crew stuck close together.



Especially telling of how bad the storms were is that Peter allowed his nemesis to bury his nose under his back.



Later on, Chester escorted me on my evening residence patrols.

Usually he's much more on alert!!! Storms tuckered him out.