The Emergency Circus

Okay, sweater and slippers are on... back to our story.

Well, our neighbor's daughter, startled as she was, drove me up to the door of her house where she ran and grabbed her mother - who upon seeing me in my muddy,disheveled and frantic state became equally anxious about the whole situation. All I could do was blurt out: "Husband!" "In ditch... I think his leg is off....please I think they'll need to pull him out - heavy equipment involved" "Please just CALL 911...."

And I ran back. By now I could hear my husband hollering for me "GET DOWN HERE - WHERE AAARRREEEE YOU???? ARRRRGGGHHH......"

It actually sounded a little better (if you can believe that!)

Apparently, in the meantime, our neighbor who called 911 for us, called upon two of the most "useful" people that live on our street (out of what was like, all 8 of the houses on our street.) I like to call them Hansel & Gretel. Now, they are really sweet people, he's VERY British, and she's VERY German. Talk about your odd couples. He has a Poirot mustache and wears a lot of tweed, and she is tall and thin and very drawn looking and chain smokes constantly. They both have made a hobby of telling everyone that our street would not be NEARLY as clean and beautiful if it weren't for them laboring to pick up all the "litter" on their daily walks. And never mind their hatred of any animal that isn't a cat or anyone that can't play bridge... Anyway, I digress. This was actually my first meeting of these two - he brought a crowbar with him and she brought her cigarettes. How useful in an emergency. (Although I'm now convinced they're both former Russian spies still putting on an act along with the rest of the characters in the witness protection program on our street.)

So by the time I got back (again the whole slow motion time thing going on) they had driven down (Gosh, thanks for stopping and giving me a ride...) and my husband was...

NOT in the skid loader.

He apparently had enough wits, er, adrenaline (and a LOT of it) to get out of the skid loader and hop almost 50 yards up into our truck at the top of the driveway. The side of the truck was the picture of desperation as the muddy hand prints left a track of obvious clawing to get up into the vehicle.

But I STILL wasn't sure what happened. Except his leg was hanging at a very odd angle. A very, very, very, odd angle. With traces of blood beginning to seep.

But at least the screaming had died down to a gutteral moan at this point. Hansel had reached my husband before me, which apparently just managed to piss my husband off terribly... and Gretel was trying to console me (but she never dropped her bloody cigarette) while we were waiting for an emergency team to arrive.

At this point, as odd as it might seem, we got into an argument.

"Take me to the fucking hospital" he demanded. Now, being the hopeless romantic that I am I responded with basically "No, you idiot, what if you go into shock?? I can't help you... I am NOT taking you to the fucking hospital, I've called an AMBULANCE".... He was not in the mood to listen to reason.... "FUCK THE AMBULANCE, TAKE ME TO THE HOSPITAL!!!!!"

Weeeyooooo Weeeeeyooooo Weeeeeeeeeyoooooooooo

Thank God for Laurens County's finest. Our Volunteer Fire Brigade. But no Ambulance.

It sounds like everything was okay...but it was NOT.

The worst was yet to come.