By Lethbridge Herald on October 18, 2024.
LEAVE IT TO BEEBER
Al Beeber – Managing editor
A few weeks ago after I wrote about Ben’s terminal illness I promised I’d never write another column about dogs.
But this week I have to because karma bit me bad following last Friday’s reference to Emergency Room mishaps, specifically talking about how I ended up in ER after throwing a saran wrap box at a cat and ripping a finger open with its serrated edge.
And on Sunday, I tweeted that if the fire and rescue guys had a call from my neighbourhood, it was just me burning the turkey while checking fantasy football from a ladder with my untied shoelaces caught in a rung.
I was begging for trouble with those missives and should have known better. But after an epidural spinal injection last week that didn’t stop me from walking seven miles, I figured I was immune to disaster. I was feeling a little too cocky for a guy with my history of unexpected and perhaps unexplainable accidents.
Like the time I forgot to put down the kickstand of my brand new Honda 750 at the gas station in Fort Frances, prompting a pal to drive me to hospital. Or the time I got a little aggressive during a scrum in front of my goalie’s net during what we called Liniment League hockey and ended up almost losing my nose to his skate blade when an opponent slammed me to the ice for too many slashes.
I also ended up in hospital after one of those ridiculously giant Coca Cola bottles that were briefly sold in the 1980s exploded when I accidentally tapped the cap of one with another, sending glass flying into a hand.
And of course, I’ll never forget the time in my first house on Stafford Drive rushing to the basement where the TV was while getting arrangements ready for the annual Horticulture Society show at the LSCO after hearing a score and bruising my scalp on a header because I wasn’t actually jumping off the bottom step.
But those were long in the past so what could happen on Sunday after Thanksgiving dinner?
Izzy happened. Specifically a deer on the front step that Izzy decided to chase as soon as I opened the front door. Being casual, I had her fabric leash wrapped around the left hand and her pulling on it tore the thing through my middle finger. And I just happen to be a southpaw.
As soon as I saw the carnage I knew karma had come knocking, no, pounding on the door. So with Liz and Dylan shaking their heads in absolute disbelief and Ben standing in the middle of the street waiting for his walk – yes, he’s still hanging on – I got rushed into the car for a trip to the ER.
And I felt stupid. Not to mention worried about a lengthy and painful wait. Which is why I didn’t go to ER when I cut open my my leg with a hedge trimmer a couple of years ago, instead buying liquid bandaids and lots of tape to repair the damage.
And alas, at ER there were people in the waiting room who definitely didn’t look well at all. After a short wait – which gave me enough time to pull out the health card so Triage didn’t have to faint at the sight of my George Costanza-ish wallet – I explained what happened and found myself sitting in brutal pain waiting for what I figured would be hours.
But no, the wait was actually shorter than my apologies and explanation for what happened. And less than two hours after donating blood to the car floor, I was home.
And trying to figure out how I was going to lay out the Monday paper with one hand. And why I didn’t just ignore Ben’s barking and wagging and turn on Sunday night football instead. Maybe he realized it was going to be a lousy game.
Thanks to Justin Seward helping out with a sports page Monday afternoon when the pain was getting unbearable, and using two mice at my work station I got ‘er done. Being semi-ambidextrous, which to me means being lousy with both hands, I managed to put that paper out well before deadline and get home to make a visit to the Riverstone puppy park where Izzy could play safely with no deer to chase.
Karma isn’t one to be messed with. I sure learned that on the weekend. For how long though is the question.
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