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I took a strip of clean t-shirt that was destined for the rag bag (I had just actually cut it into pieces not 5 minutes before) and tied it around my finger, checked on my son who was playing ever so nicely out on the deck. Then I sat down on the bed and cursed a blue streak. (hmm I've never actually used that phrase before).
I called Descartes and asked if he could work from home so I could avoid taking Jake to the doctor with me... this story starts to bore me here, but let me just say that I made an appointment with a doctor in an office for a time that worked that day with childcare, Lucy pick up and our dinner guests.
I got a call from the advice nurse, who wanted to know the size, shape, number of blood droplets currently falling etc. Then she told me I needed to go to Urgent Care. I assured her that I was all taken care of, having smartly made an appointment with a Medical Doctor. She deflated my triumph with this lovely moment, "We can't do sutures in the doctor's office."
I'm sorry. WTF? I bet I could drop a few stitches in on the side of a trail, with a regular needle and dental floss (but Wow! would that minty wax hurt!) How is it that doctors don't do stitches anymore?
I called back Descartes. He stopped at Ace hardware. I poured rubbing
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