Responding to my cries of anguish, The Resident Grandson arrived with tissues. Surveying the spreading pool of blood, he expressed dismay and concern, but on being assured that it probably wasn't life-threatening, said "I have to go to work now" and fled.
Taking a deep breath, I pushed the nail down again, and mopped up, applying a couple of band-aids to hold the whole sorry mess together. I'm not naturally squeamish, thank goodness.
And it was the stuff of farce, really!
My daughter kindly drove me to the doctor's surgery, where it turned out I'd done the right thing. The nail should remain in place to protect the toe until it heals. Disinfected and bandaged (and sore) I returned home.
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| From this - |
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| to this! |
Deciding to take advantage of my disabled state, (did I mention it's SORE?) I've spent the rest of the day sorting out my family history files.
I feel much better now. And the Resident Grandson is cooking tonight!
poor Marcie :(
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