The hands have it...

You know, I wasn't going to mention any of this. Really, I was going to be loyal and not mention it, but now, given today's events, I simply must share.

Monday at work, hubby ran his fingertips over a wood sign and managed to get a very deep splinter that got so badly infected and swolen that he ended up at the hospital on Wednesday to have the finger opened so they could clean it out, sew it up, bandage it and send him on his merry way with Vicodin and antibiotics.

Let's keep count: that's one fingertip on the right hand, bandaged.

So today, hubby walks in the door and before he changes out of his military uniform, he decides to cut a dog treat in half despite the fact I had already told him I'd tried to cut the treat in half earlier and it was too tough. Out comes the brand new butcher knife. And viola! We're back in the ER, the top of his fingertip is now sliced open, through the nail. More stiches, a Tetnus (sp?) shot, more Vicodin and more antibiotics.

Count, again: another finger bandaged, this time left hand.

He's now lying in bed, doped up on Vicodin, both hands bandaged. Its all he can do to go to the restroom himself, I've absolutely forbidden him from entering the kitchen, doing anything with a tool or harming himself again in anyway.

Because, given this history, next time opening a can of soda will be the trifecta!