I do still have two eyes, but by all rights I shouldn't.
It was after we moved from NY to VA, so I think it was about eleven years ago. Certainly I was old enough to know better...

Being from the mountains of NY, one of the things that I used to do that I loved- and missed terribly- was to have a small outdoor fire at night. So one day I got hold of a load of rocks (around here it's called riprap and they use it to line ditches- ragged chunks of stone about six or eight inches across) and carted them to the back yard, where I constructed a medium sized fire pit with three walls and an open front- perfect for toasting marshmallows with the kids.

I had lots of trees around that dropped branches, so I never lacked for fuel. I had a round chunk of oak- a log I couldn't split- that I used for a chopping block, and would use it to chop some of the larger branches to chunks about a foot and a half long.

One Saturday afternoon in October I was busy cutting up stuff for the fire pit with an axe. I had a routine down- axe in one hand, branch in the other, do two smallish chops on one side, turn it over and hit it in the back side opposite the notch I had just made. The branch would crack and the chunk would fall off, and I'd just move the rest of the branch over to repeat it. Chop chop, turn, crack. Chop chop, turn, crack. The wood piled up.

My son came outside to talk to me as I was doing this- as I recall he was complaining about something his brother had done- so I was slightly distracted in my task. Chop chop, turn, CRACK- and the chunk whipped around and caught me, end first, on the right eyebrow.

"FUCK!"

I set down the axe and staggered toward the stairs to go into the kitchen. I held my hand over my eyebrow and felt the blood running down my forearm, dripping off of my elbow. I got a paper towel and folded it to hold it to my eyebrow. I walked down the hall, still dripping (followed by my son, who was now wiping up blood off the floor with a paper towel of his own) and called up to my wife, "I think I need to go with you to work."

"What!" She appeared at the top of the stairs, her hair half curled, wearing a bra and granny panties and a scowl. "What did you do?"

"I cut myself." (I would have thought this to be obvious from the bloody paper towel and the child wiping the floor next to me.) "I need to go, now."

"I'm not ready!" I heard her go stomping off through the bedroom and crashing as she slammed things around. "And what are we going to do with the kids? We can't take them with us- how are you going to get home?-"

"Call my sister. We can take them there and go to Nearby Hospital."

"No, you'll come to work with me at Faraway Hospital! I know the doctors there!" Crash, slam, stomp stomp stomp.

"Fine. Just hurry, please."

I heard her pick up the phone and call my sister. Lots of chattering, lots of nervous giggles, lots of omygods, more chatter, and all the while I'm still bleeding. Several minutes pass.

I called up the stairs again. "Please tell her you'll drop them off. I'll just drive myself to Nearby Hospital."

"No you won't!" This harpy screech was followed by her appearing in the doorway, in the same state as before and looking even less appealing than ever. "You're in no condition to drive!"

I snorted. "And you are?"

She whirled and stomped off again.

I sighed. "Look, just tape some gauze to it and I'll take care of it, okay?"

Slam, crash, slam, stomp stomp stomp and a stampede of musk oxen on the staircase and she was downstairs, an expression of rage on her face and tape in her hand. She folded the gauze and pressed it against my face, then put two pieces of tape on. "There!"

"Thank you. I'll be over at Nearby Hospital." And I drove myself there.

The Emergency Room was rather busy, but as I was bleeding they got me in pretty quickly. After a moment a doctor came over, peeled off the gauze and inspected me. "Okay, I have a couple of things I need to take care of right now. Can you hang on for about ten minutes?"

"Sure. But look, it's not that big a deal- you can have a nurse just put in a couple of stitches. It's not that bad."

He gave a grim smile. "That's one man's opinion. Sit tight, I'll be back."

I shrugged and sat back.

As he worked on me he explained that he had been a plastic surgeon in the military, so it was a little more complicated than just a couple of sutures. He spent about a half hour on me and put twenty three little teeny stitches on my face.

He was just finishing up as Nurse Ratched appeared. She informed me that the kids were at my sister's, and asked calmly if I was okay to drive home. I assured her I was fine, and she could go in to work. We finished up the paperwork and I left, put up with the inevitable piss-take from my sister, and took the kids home.

As we drove my son said, "It's okay that you said that bad word, Dad."

Thanks, kid.

Epilogue:

The wound looked nicely fierce for Halloween, and I had a doctor remove them (NOT Nurse Ratched, thankyouverymuch). It itched as it healed, but it also ached.

One day at work I went to the bathroom and inspected it- by now the ache should have eased, for chrissake. And then I noticed a dark spot that hadn't been there in my eyebrow before. A gentle exploration revealed that it was rough and very hard.

I thought for a moment, then carefully caught it between my fingernails. I then extracted a sliver a quarter inch long from my half-healed eyebrow- and fought off the urge to heave my stomach all over the walls.

It doesn't show much now, other than a couple of small hairs that seem slightly out of place on my right eyebrow.

I no longer use my axe for that job. I have less dangerous methods now...
( The Resident Loon Not a demographic. Do not measure., Thu 7 Aug 2008, 19:43, 7 replies)

Any story with Nurse Ratchett in is a winner with me : )
.
( girlinthehole, Thu 7 Aug 2008, 19:55, closed)

I sometimes wonder
if people know who Nurse Ratched is- aside from being my ex-wife, of course.

For those of you suffering from chronological deprivation, here is a good article.

(Interestingly, she even looks a bit like my ex wife, only not as fat and spotty.)
( The Resident Loon Not a demographic. Do not measure., Thu 7 Aug 2008, 19:59, closed)

Nurse Ratched I want My Cigarettes!
Hehehe it's amazing how nurses can be so cold when it comes to injured spouses, I was married to one as well and she was like a pit bull whenever I hurt myself!
( baw__bag contains traces of nuts on, Thu 7 Aug 2008, 20:56, closed)

Contrary to popular image
nurses, I have found, tend to either be kind and nurturing and work in the Labor & Delivery Ward, or tend to be scowling control freaks who see everything as a crisis that they have to handle themselves RIGHT NOW, and are in fact the very embodiment of evil.

Never, ever, ever shall I get involved with one again.
( The Resident Loon Not a demographic. Do not measure., Thu 7 Aug 2008, 22:20, closed)

Great story RL
"It's okay that you said that bad word, Dad."

Ah, kids. Don't you just love 'em?
(Che Grimsdale Best before:, Fri 8 Aug 2008, 10:03, closed)

wow.
if i was you, i'd have kicked her right up the arse with a blood-stained shoe.
( Smash Monkey lowering the tone of the whole internet, Sat 9 Aug 2008, 2:43, closed)

Of course I know who Nurse Ratched is
I was born in the 80s AND I read the (far better) book before seeing the film, fnarr fnarr

*click* for not spelling it 'ax'....
(Son of Sam-i-am We're all as mad as hatters here, Sat 9 Aug 2008, 23:19, closed)