So.... I have got to give these feet a break.
Let's go back a ways. Six years ago, to be more specific. PJ and I were married six months and we decided to have the first crisis of our marriage. Well it wasn't a decision, not a shared one at least. Not even a personal decision. Just something dumb on my part. I seem to have a knack for dumb. This particular dumb was a great big step on a great big piece of glass. I cut through most of my big toe, and nearly cut my other toe off! I remember very well going to the hospital, and the blood, and the stitches, and PJ. Oh I remember PJ the best. He was the fastest, clean the blood up off the floor, and get us down the stairs the quickest, little PJ that there ever was.
PJ didn't used to be the type of person who was okay with going to the doctor. Matter of fact, I'm fairly certain he'd rather croak than go to the doctor. What surprised me the most, was how involved PJ was while we were there. I remember PJ holding my hand, and holding my foot down for the P.A., and laughing at me while I was in la-la land. He stayed that night with me at my parent's house, and waited on me hand and foot. After being held hostage at home for five days, I thought it would be nice to get out. When we got up the next morning, PJ announced to me that he was going to join the Army. So my first day out of captivity, we made that big decision. When PJ came home from MEPS and told me that he was going to be a Combat Medic, I can't explain how excited I was. To have my own personal medic.... Every girl's dream.
Fast forward to now. Well two days ago, now. On a routine Thursday morning, fifteen minutes before I was going to leave, on an absolutely normal morning, I cut my foot open. On a doggy deshedder. You know, one of those rakes that you use to pull the loose hair off your dog. Katie knocked it off the shelf, and it fell onto the stairs. Then I stepped on it. LIKE AN IDIOT. Now I have an inch long, into the fat, just above the ball of the foot where the arch starts, slightly curved cut. After shaking my head in shame, I got a towel and covered it up. Right at that moment, I realized how much I missed my PJ. I wished that he wasn't on the other side of the world, but at home springing into action to take care of me. I know he would have been all too happy to take care of my cut. I know that PJ is a skilled medic, and it would be wonderful to see him at work. Unfortunately this time, I had to let the doctor stitch me up. And boy did she have a good laugh at my expense. A good, shake your head, hand on the hip, kind of laugh. Fortunately, after four excruciating shots of Lidocaine, four stitches, and five steri-strips, I went to work.
All that aside, nothing makes me miss PJ more than when I don't feel good. I miss PJ all the time, and he's always on my mind. When I'm in the car, when I watch TV, when I cuddle the doggies, when I sleep. He's always there. I can smell him, and I can hear him talking and laughing while he plays Call of Duty. I can hear him meowing and giggling.
I think I'll stop now. The dogs need their mommy, and this girl needs to soak in a nice hot bath, foot included. So without further delay, this accident prone dumb Andy is signing off!
Andy
PS - A bit of my conversation with PJ about this whole dumb thing... Me: You're missing out on an opportunity to possibly do stitches on my foot. Love you!... PJ: Damn, well we can amputate it when I get home.... Love my medic!!
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