You Just Thought I Was Done Blogging (aka Surgery)

I have always wanted to keep blogging when I return each summer. I use to blog almost daily when I lived overseas.  But…there were fewer people with internet over on that side of the world. Even if the names were made up (and the stories were real), someone would know I was talking about them, get mad and sue me for my dog. (Then they would realize my dog barked all night and give her back, but still….)

Since I have been home, I have been picking a lot of blackberries.  The wear-lots-of-clothes-because-they-are-thorny-and-there-are-snakes kind of blackberries. During my first picking on Monday morning, I got a thorn. Though I have had several thorns over the last few days, I have been unable to get that particular thorn out.  I’ve tried all the “home remedies” and needles. Finally, I decided I needed my dad to perform “surgery.” He was too busy for me to catch last night, so I went to bed convinced I would die from thorn-poisoning over night.  (I did wake up at 5am from it throbbing.)

So, at 9am I got brave enough to call to see if Dad was awake.   He had no problem grabbing a needle and digging in. I kept jerking which made him mad.  

"I can't help you if you keep pulling away," he complained.   

"But it hurts," I said.

"You better be glad I'm not your granddaddy. He used a knife and showed no mercy," Dad said.

Finally, he decided he needed a pop and a headache pill before he continued.  He gave me a piece of ice in the meantime to numb my hand.

When he came back, he said, “I know exactly how to get it out.”  He then grabbed my hand to start digging, BUT he stomped on my foot really hard and held it down.  Then he dug and said, “I got it.”  Sure enough…he distracted me long enough with my foot that he got the splinter out.

Note to self: find someone other than dad for my next surgery.

(I would also like to brag that I wrote this entire blog without my index, right finger…it still hurts.)