** graphic content at the end of the post. Scroll down to see it if that fascinates you. Or don’t. Cause it’s gross.**
“I’ve never seen fat like that inside a knee before.” – Josh, said out of genuine amazement. It was amazing. I love that man.
When your home is where you work, and your outreach is your neighborhood, sometimes it’s good to get away for a breather.
We like to get away occasionally and visit our friends who live on a fairly remote island. They are the once in a lifetime kind of friends and we thank God every day that they came into our life.
As I was helping load up the car to get ready for an afternoon at the beach, I slipped on some wet tile and broke a couple tiles on my way down. Josh was at my side in an instant, recognizing that my leg was split open, right near my shin. I saw my fat with my own eyes. No muscle in there. Shocker. Also thankful not much blood. Josh claims he saw bone and went to work squeezing it together and making sure I was ok.
Punch line of the whole story? I was OK. Just a nice slice in my leg, about 2 inches long and deep enough to gross out anyone. Stitches were most definitely necessary.
So my friend is an amazing nurse, and has a small clinic is this village of theirs. She and Josh loaded me into the car and we drove around for a while, looking for a doctor, and some lidocaine. Please, dear Lord, help there to be painkiller. Visions of having to bite a bullet in case of no anesthesia crossed my mind. Whatever. There reached a point where Josh and I figured that if he and Shannon watched a YouTube on stitching up this kind of mess, then they could handle it. Thankfully, we found a doctor (I think), and he had Lidocaine (praise God), and a slightly expired suture set. He hesitated at the expiration date, but when you’re in a village with a leg split open, you can’t worry about that kind of thing.
Josh made sure the wound was thoroughly cleaned, which was probably the most painful part. I kept my mind off of it all by looking out the window at the village house next door. A kid was crying. I sympathized.
A few stitches later, and we were done. He diagnosed me with “traumatic wound”. By his shaking hands, I’m not sure who was traumatized more.
My mom is concerned about sharks. It’s a valid concern. I promise to stay out of the water, Mom.
I’ve never been so thankful for such a strong husband to carry me, and be wiling to do whatever it takes to fix me up. I’ve never been so grateful for my friend, Shannon, who knew what needed to be done and assisted like a champ, and then did way more than her share of work, taking care of my children as well as hers later that day at the beach.
I’m surrounded by the best kind of people who care about me, and I hate that I’m being waited on instead of being helpful. But I appreciate it oh so much.
I love that we have 3 boys, and this is probably the worst injury yet in our family. Jordan wasn’t worried- he figured I would be OK because “you’re a MOM.” I love that I’m not really vain about my legs- they weren’t my best feature anyway, and the scars from this are gonna be terrific.
Life is an adventure, and adventures are more exciting when you are with friends in a village in an island in Africa.
Stop reading if you don’t want to see the gross picture. Or carry on. Please don’t judge my fat. Being vulnerable here. Not really.