Good Times, Cupid

The Matron had much to say over the weekend.

But . . .

All was lost when Merrick sliced off his left index finger tip at 4:47 pm last night. The ER doctors in St. Paul are pretty cute and depressingly youthful.

The slicing was thanks to a sturdy scissors and Merrick's determination to rid his jeans of all the threads that Mama's patching created. Bad Mama.

Perhaps her favorite moment during the crisis was when she called Stryker for a medical consult. Merrick had just sliced off his fingertip. He screamed (Hitchcock would have recruited). The Matron, who had been loading the dishwasher, reeled around to the kitchen table where Merrick thrust out a finger nearly severed from the center of fingernail on up. Sly Matron, she saw that the severed finger section was a perfect puzzle match for a little pouch on the finger below. She shoved the flesh back in and thought, "okay maybe I am still going out for dinner."

But Merrick kept wailing and --because nobody else was home-- she asked Stryker to see what was what.

Matron (above Merrick's screams): "So what do you think Stryker? Does that look all good like it's going to just heal on its own?"

Stryker, calmly hugging Merrick: "Mom, that looks great. I wouldn't worry."

Stryker, then moving BEHIND Merrick to stage whisper and gasp behind his back, mouthing: "CALL THE HOSPITAL."

She did, and--crashing all those Valentine Dinner dreams--the ER nurse told her to come on in.

Turns out stitches don't work on severed fingertips. Tight bandages, hope and youthful regeneration are the fix. Every doc and nurse reassured them that all looked really good! If you're going to whack of a digit and keep it, well, your name is Merrick.

The only danger?

Fever!!!!

Everybody warned of infection's danger with this sort of thing and advised monitoring, closely.

Drama aside (and oh my Lord this child gave his sister a run for the money), all was well until just before bedtime: 101.1

Sigh.