Well, not really "down". Is a farmer ever really down? Never.
Some of you (Itchy and Scratchy over in Stratford) already know the story, but for the rest of you I will relate the events of this week. As you all know I am trying to give the coop a rustic exterior. I like the look and I think it will blend nicely with our backyard and the garden. In my construction efforts I'm trying to re-use and recycle as much material as possible. This budding chicken farmer has been collecting old pallets, scrap wood and free windows. Lately I've been driving the country roads in search of some old galvanized metal roofing to roof the coop. The coop I have is covered with shingles but I think a metal roof would add to its overall charm.
For those that don't know PEI is very rural and the landscape is dotted with old farmhouses and barns, many of which have metal roofs. I "hatched" a plan to spot a decrepit old building and ask the owner if they would be willing to part with a few roof panels.
Well last week, while out for a drive, I found such a perfect place. It was an old, partially collapsed barn. I could clearly see loose metal roof panels laying on the ground. I wasn't able to stop but I made a plan to return. Imagine my dismay when I did return earlier this week and found it completely demolished!!!!. There was a large excavator where the barn had once been and a huge pile of twisted metal, wood and concrete. Several swear words came to mind. Nonetheless, I drove up the driveway and got out to survey what remained. In short order the home owner came out and I introduced myself and explained my visit. I learned that the old barn had been demolished the day before. THE DAY BEFORE!!! Can you believe it!!! The homeowner told me that I would have been welcome to as many roof panels as I wanted prior to the dismantling. Again, more swearing in my head. Still, the homeowner told me that I could rummage through the debris and take whatever I needed. I saw a few panels that could be salvaged so I left and returned with some tools.
I needed 7 - 3' panels. Plus, Kim put in an order for some remnants to use in the construction of her birdhouses. I busied myself and had collected 5 such pieces when I saw a nice, straight 8' panel. This piece would end my salvage as I could later cut it in two. It was buried under some debris. I managed to pull it out and began cutting away the section using my tin snips. Well this piece was under a little tension and as I snipped away it suddenly released. My hand happened to be in the way when it gave. I immediately realized that thin galvanized metal is sharp as I stared at a nice, clean cut on my left index finger. Bah! Just a small wound. Sure it was deep and started to bleed profusely but I still had work to do. Yes, being cut by rusty metal can cause lockjaw but when is the last time you heard that happen to someone? Well my work site looked like a double homicide crime scene but I had managed to cut all my pieces and departed.
Driving home my thoughts focused little on my injury but more on my wife's reaction to said injury. You see, my wife's reaction is often a little exasperation (ie. What did you do to yourself, now?) tempered with genuine concern. Upon arrival, and walking in the house, to soften the blow I advised my lovely that I had collected some nice colored pieces for her birdhouses but that I had sustained a "boo boo" in doing so. I had put on a glove driving home to prevent getting blood all over myself and my truck. Upon removal and closer inspection I now saw that I had quite the nice gash. Bah! Just a small wound. A little soap and water (yeeouch!!!) and some bandages and I would be healed in a week. Yes, there would be a scar but scars add character and they make for good blog stories.
My lovely was not convinced that this was proper treatment and she offered that I should go to the hospital. "It could get infected and you should at least get a Tetanus shot" was advice that she offered. In my 40+ years I have sustained many, many work-related injuries (clumsy...no. Just of the opinion that you're not really working unless you're bleeding). And, perhaps it's my stubbornness and impatience, but I refused to sit in an emergency room for hours and convinced her that I would be fine and it would heal.
Next morning I'm up early and off to work. In an effort not to wake my sleeping beauty, I routinely shower and dress at the office. I removed my bandage and again am witness to what is now a bloody, swollen, jagged, throbbing mess of a finger. Bah! Just a small wound. Some more soap and water and a new bandage is all I need. However, soap and water really hurts now, and I think I can see.....bone?.... through the cut. I'm honest with myself (and all of you now) that all last night I am thinking that it probably does need stitches. Several thoughts of having a "stub" for a finger after losing it to infection and my wife being able to say, "I told you to go to the hospital" have also occupied my mind.
I manage to shower, shave, bandage and dress myself. This is no small feat. I pop a pain reliever and set about my day. Things are going well but the thought of lying in a hospital bed with all sorts of lines plugged into me to flush the infection from my body and the "stub" persist. I reason that a "stub" ups your man credibility and would certainly give me some "grit", especially when in the company of other chicken farmers. My lovely sends me a text imploring me to seek medical treatment and, that at this hour of the day, there would be no line-ups. She is even kind enough to phone clinics and the hospital and enquire about how long it would be to be treated. I relent. I arm myself with a coffee and drive to the hospital.
Upon arrival, I am fast-tracked through admitting and ushered into a treatment room. The admitting nurse makes the comment, "Really. You didn't think THAT needed stitches!" I think of telling her my thoughts on "stubs" in the chicken-keeping world but reconsider. I have been at the hospital less than 15 minutes. I've only managed to drink a quarter of my coffee. Another nurse comes into my room carrying a tray of items I have seen many times before. She makes the comment, "I figure I'd bring these in because I heard you're going to need it". I am also tempted to tell her my thoughts on "stubs" in the chicken-keeping world but reconsider. She departs and the attending Doctor enters minutes later. I learn that he is around my age and attends the same gym I do. He seems to be a good fellow and I immediately trust him. He looks at my wound and tells me I should have come to emergency last night. I now understand that regardless of treatment infection is likely (given the cause of injury and the amount of time that has lapsed), and that I will need a tetanus shot. I have a vision of my wife standing in the room rolling her eyes at me and nodding her head in agreement with the Doctor. I send several texts to my lovely updating her on my progress. I do not tell her what the Doctor said. I have been in the hospital less than 25 minutes. The Doctor proceeds to clean my laceration and advises that I am lucky. I very narrowly missed slicing the tendon which would have made flexing my finger (trigger pull?) impossible and would have required surgery to repair.
I received 5 stitches to close the cut. I am prescribed a round of antibiotics. When the Nurse enters to give me my tetanus shot, I begin pulling my pants off to bear my all to her only to learn that that shot is now applied in the upper arm. I have another vision of my wife rolling her eyes at me. I gather my things and depart the hospital. My entire treatment lasted less than an hour and I still had half a coffee to drink on the ride back to the office.
As I "peck" away at the keyboard today with my latest injury I calculated that in my lifetime I have been the recipient of over 50 stitches. Similar to knitting, I am considering adding a "stitch count" to the blog.
My coop construction efforts are somewhat limited for the next week but, without a doubt, the "Scratch Pad" will have a metal roof.
Sadly this week, our friends Itchy and Neon Dave lost their beloved dog "Bun Bun". Our thoughts and love go out to you both. She is over the rainbow with Rookie.
p.s. - I changed the blog settings today. You may all comment freely. My apologies.
