kris

I've been dodging the bullet known as Kris' sickness for the last week.

He's been home sick. He's been coughing and hacking and blowing snot all over the place for the last week, or so, and I've been avoiding getting sick somehow. I'm not sure quite how, though. He came home last Friday night with chills so bad his teeth were chattering and he wasn't able to speak.

Today, however, I realized that I failed to dodge completely, and was smacked upside the head with the sickness bullet that is Kris. If only he weren't so kissable, I wouldn't have had this problem. Is there anything really wrong with shoving him in the backroom, locking the door, and just passing meals in through the window, in order to stay healthy?

Yes?

Rats.

I'm staying home today.

So....

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.

Fun!

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."

"Oh."

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.

We went into the back room quickly, the evening being a fairly slow night. The nurse looked at his leg and commented, "Oh, well, I guess I know why you're in here."

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."

"No problem."

Kris had some routine tests done today, so I spent the day with him.

Sorta.

I spent the day taking him to the hospital, waiting for him, waiting even longer for him, waiting even longer longer for him, picking him up, driving him home, assisting him into the bedroom, and waiting for him to wake up hours later, worrying as he slept that he wasn't okay.

He wasn't allowed to eat anything solid yesterday, nor anything at all since 10PM last night. I've been sick and not eaten for a day before, and it's not a pleasant experience. At least I would have water, which Kris couldn't have. At some point, you just stop being hungry. I'm not sure Kris ever hit that point - he was in good spirits this morning.

So, off we went. When we arrived at the office, there was one other person in the waiting room. When Kris actually left me to head into the back room by himself, about 45 minutes late, the entire waiting room was full, with more people arriving as I was leaving. I was on a mission to find wi-fi I could use for the next hour and a half while Kris was, uh, busy.

Instead of lugging my 20# backpack, I dropped it off at my car and called Dad to let him know he'd be receiving a set of keys this weekend. He wondered what was happening with the Larson house, and was pleased to hear the purchase had gone through (Five page. FIVE pages. That's how many pages you have to read, signing only two of them, when you purchase property in Indiana without financing, five. Crazy.). We talked for a half hour, and off I went in my wi-fi quest.

Times like these are ones that I really really wish I had an EVDO connection, or some mobile modem connection. Instead, I spent 25 minutes walking to the Starbucks, to realize there was one 20 minutes closer to the medical office only after I arrived. A glass of milk and a quick note to the office letting them know if I arrived this afternoon, it'd be later, as Kris went in late, and back I went to the office. I arrived to an empty waiting room, and notice that Kris would be another half hour.

I managed to read a couple magazines today. Does that count?

Sans wi-fi, I worked on client work I could work on, work I had downloaded, but was still feeling a little disconnected. Not nearly as disconnected as Kris appeared when I finally went into the back room to pick him up. He was so out of it, he didn't even use "Kitt" as his wife's name, causing me to wonder who the nurse was looking for when she kept asking for "Kathryn."

Kris slept when I brought him home. Cramping and severe abdominal pains are post-procedure possibilities, so I was unable to leave until he woke up, which wasn't until around 6.

The day was fairly pleasant, though strange. Not sure what Kris went through was worth it to get me to stop working for a day, but it was still a good day.

Next time, maybe I won't feel so guilty about not working to actually enjoy it.

Update: Ah! At one point, after I was listening to the doctor tell Kris, and hence me, the preliminary findings of the tests, the nurse was explaining the possible post-procedure problems. She said Kris may feel bloated, so, if he wants to, let him, uh, ... She paused. I almost said, "Fart?" but her level of discomfort made me look at her with a blank expression.

"If he wants to, uh, you know," she gestured to her stomach, "pass, you know, his stomach, if he needs to,"

The effort to suppress my laughter almost made me fart. How can a nurse not be able to say, "pass gas," "break wind," or "fart?"

Inspired by a post from Tara, I went to go look up my M.... personality style. I've taken this test many times before. I know, however, that, if a person works at it, he can change his personality and mannerisms to express a different personality type. Although I can't walk into a party and work the room the way Ben can, at least I'm not the wallflower I was in high school, and can be fairly comfortable in a crowd.

So, I went to take the personality test to see if indeed, I had changed.

Part of the problem with taking personality tests that ask questions about yourself is that sometimes, depending on how the question is worded, you don't know the answer about yourself. Your friends or family can answer the question immediately and without any consideration, as they know you from the outside. From the inside, things aren't always so clear.

After I finished the test (discovering that I am, at this point, a slightly expressed ENTJ, the first time I'm not fundamentally an INTJ), Kris asked to take the test, too. Since the question was 72 questions long, I handed him my computer and waited for him to take the test.

He, too, had to ask me for help on some questions about how I perceived him, just as I had to ask how he perceived me. At some point, he asked me what I thought his yes/no answer should be to the statement, "You give freely to others asking nothing in return."

I said no, that wasn't necessarily the case. People had to ask him, and, well...

"If I'm doing you a favor, make it easy for me," he commented.

Yup. Exactly.