While working out yesterday morning, I noticed at one point during my box jumps that Kris was sitting off to the side next to Breanne instead of jumping on the box or slamming the ball. I thought it odd, but didn't head over to see what he was doing.
After the workout and throwing, Kris commented he banged up his leg, sure to expand the scar from Gino's. I pointed to the scar on his right leg, then the bandage on his left, and let him know that, no, he would have matching scars instead.
Last night, he arrived home limping. Oh, boy, he said, did his leg hurt. After throwing down his work bags and other stuff, he hobbled into the bathroom to remove his bandage. A few moments later, I heard howling from the back of the house. Bella was sitting next to me in the living room. Annie was on the couch opposite me. Must be Kris.
When I arrived, he was standing outside of the tub with his leg inside the shower, getting his leg wet and trying to remove the gauze from the wound on his leg. Eventually, with sufficient water, he was able to remove the gauze, and I was able to see what he had done this morning.
Not for the faint of heart.
One look at the wound, and I told him to dry off and put a pair of shorts back on, we were going to the emergency room. Ha ha ha, he didn't believe me at first. How bad could the injury be? He finished the workout this morning. He worked all day with his leg propped up. Why did he have to go to the emergency room?
"Because you have an inch and half gash in your shin that goes down to the bone. Your muscle sheath has been torn. It's been twelve hours and it's still bleeding. You're getting stitches."
Close to our house, a medical clinic opened a few months ago. I've been fairly grumpy about the place, wanting a park on the location instead of more parking spaces and a gigantic medical clinic. The lights into and out of the clinic are very poorly timed, causing me to wait at a red light as I watch the next light cycle through six cycles. The amount of traffic in the area has increased. It's nothing but trouble in my mind.
Tonight, however, I was quite glad I had a medical facility close to home. Ten minutes after announcing our going to the clinic, Kris was hobbling into the front door.
A few minutes later, the doctor came in. He looked at Kris when he walked in, and continued to look at his face as he asked the basic health history questions. After a few questions, he asked why Kris why he was in. "I was jumping at a workout this morning, onto a box, and missed." The doctor looked down towards Kris' leg for the first time, surprise registering on his face when he finally saw the wound.
After talking with us for a while, the doctor asked how old the wound was. Kris told him he injured it at 8:30, the doctor seemed relieved, only an hour ago. "AM," he continued. "Oh." The doctor then told us he couldn't stitch it up. Turns out, an injury less than 6 hours old can be stitched close completely. From six hours to twelve, a wound can be lightly stitched to pull any skin or skin flap loosely together, but not closed, as the risk of infection is too great. After twelve hours, they won't stitch at all, as the risk of infection is far too great, and way outweighs the benefits of closing the wound.
However, this would was so big, he had to recommend a gentle closing stitch.
Around this time, I commented under my breath, "Boys are dumb." Apparently, I didn't mutter quietly enough, as the doctor looked up at me, somewhat offended. Kris saw the look and explained the origin and let the doctor know that dumb is equal opportunity, girls can be dumb, too.
Sure, Kris. If you say so.
An hour later, we left the building and went home. As we were walking into the house, Kris turned to me and laughed. "I banged it up good, eh?"
"Yes. Yes. you did. Way to let me take care of you."