We Found It!

The piece of wood that caused all this havoc last Sunday….we found it.  Actually, Sean found it.  He’s currently on some sort of mission to make the garage as safe as possible. You have got to love my husband’s heart.

He came inside and showed it to me.  I stepped away from it.  He laughed and said, “It’s not going to hurt you.”

The piece of wood is small.  Literally, no bigger than a package of gum.  Like, Trident size. Not Juicy Fruit size.  Maybe, a hair smaller than Trident size.

If you’ve never worked with a miter saw before, the blade spins around, but when it spins, it spins away from you.  That way, if something like this were to happen, the piece flys in the opposite direction of your body, and away from you.  It’s a one in a million chance that the piece of wood would hit the small metal back of the saw and fling at you.

One time, when I was learning how to sew, my mom was showing me how to put the pins in the fabric, and how to stitch along a certain line.  I asked, “What if the sewing machine needle hits one of the pins?”  She replied, “That’s a one in a million chance, and I’ve never had it happen before.”  Guess what happened to me just a couple minutes into sewing. Yep.  Broke the needle, too.

So, I don’t want to hear anymore about one in a million chances.

My husband’s theory has been that the wood fractured, flew backwards as is the intent of the machine, but it was that “one in a million” chance, and it ricocheted off the back of the machine and flung itself back at me.  Specifically, my face.

And then all the drama ensued.  Blah, blah, blah.

Today, Sean found the piece all the way on the other side of the garage, by the scroll saw. So, this piece of wood fractured itself off the main piece, hit the back of the machine for that one-in-a-million-shot, ricocheted off, hit my face causing all the drama, and then flew clear to the other side of our two car garage.  That’s some pretty serious velocity, and I now know why I was as swollen as I was, and why I’m still bruised and I can’t touch my nose or I’ll cry.

My husband put the piece of wood in his hand, and told me it was therapy to pick it up.  I tried a couple time, but couldn’t.  He waited patiently.  All I did was glare at it.  (I’m a Scorpio, so my glare is pretty mighty.)  Then, I picked it up.  Turned it around, studied it. I then gave it back to my husband.

Now, it’s sitting in the sand bucket as punishment.  It’s waiting for our next fire pit blaze, kind of like someone on death row.

Good news is that my stitches came out this morning.  I learned that the doctor that was working on me last Sunday night is the Director of the department.  He’s 36 or 37, and some sort of prodigy at this sort of stuff.  And the paramedic that removed the stitches raved at how nicely this will heal.  How awesome the stitches were, and how great I kept ‘em clean.

See, my “clean freak” skills come in handy.

I was thinking, as my husband drove me over to the ER this morning, that 13 used to be my lucky number.  However, this little dramatic event happened on the 13th.  So, how can it be lucky?

It all just dawned on me.  I’ve said before that I’m lucky because it didn’t hit my eyes, yadda yadda yadda.  But, I’m also lucky that the scar will be in my smile crease.  I’m lucky that the laceration didn’t get infected.  I’m lucky the Director of the ER just happened to be on duty that night, and he just so happens to be some sort of medical prodigy.  Although, I now feel kind-of bad about inquiring about his stitching skills.

I’m lucky that I have the love of all my friends and family.  It’s because of that love and support I’m able to concentrate on healing myself.  I’m lucky that the piece of wood that had enough velocity to fling itself all around the garage didn’t cause more serious and permanent damage.

I’m still swollen and bruised.  Half my upper lip won’t smile.  There’s still some mental healing to be done.  But, I’m on my way.

I haven’t had a sale all week while I was recuperating.  Not even stuff that’s already made and ready to ship.  Honestly, though, I didn’t really care.

When I was getting my stitches removed this morning, I sold another Man Cave sign via Etsy.  Maybe this is God’s way of saying it’s time to get back to work.

Okay, but one step at a time.  My Guardian Angel has been working some major overtime, here, lately.