Christmas Day Massacre
Christmas of 2001 we were living in 'The Lake House' job searching, trying to sell our house in Virginia, paying out of pocket insurance and barely keeping our sanity. Don was optimistic, I on the other hand cried every morning in the shower.
That Christmas was memorable for two reasons. It was a nice old fashioned Christmas, we were watching our pennies and all of our stuff was in storage, so our Christmas decorations were all homemade -we even made an amazing gingerbread house. The second was the stabbing.
Christmas morning was spent opening presents, eating breakfast and sipping mimosas, it was truly lovely. A fire was roaring in the fireplace, Christmas music filled the house and I had my favorite meal to prepare, prime rib, Yorkshire pudding, green beans and gravy. At high noon I fired up the oven and started preparing the meat. Santa had given the girls snowshoes and they were eager to give them a trial run. Each pair was held together by zip ties, or urban handcuffs as I like to call them. The girls asked Don if he could cut the ties. You see where this is going don't you? He pulled out his buck knife, opened it, picked up the snowshoes and promptly plunged the buck knife into his forearm. How festive!!
I was puttering in the kitchen when Don said, "Honey, honey, honey, I've got a problem." I didn't even turn around, "What's the matter?" He continued, "Honey, a BIG problem!!!" Sensing this was on the serious side, I turned around to see him grasping his forearm in his hand. When he released his hand a crimson fountain sprang up about two inches. My first words? "Oh Jesus Christ!" I'll be the first to admit it was a frustrated exclamation. This was followed by me whipping around to find a dish towel and muttering, "Freaking prime rib is in the oven, there's a fire going, great, just great!" I stomped into the living room said, "Give me your arm." and proceeded to put a tourniquet on the wound as tightly as I could. I turned around to find Lauren standing in the middle of the living room crying her eyes out, "Dad!! Dad!!! Dad!!!" I told her, "Stop crying, he's not going to die." Ashlee was holding up pretty well. I told her to push the screen against the hearth and walk Dad to the car. I got Lauren's coat, shock was settling in with her, my coat and made sure everything was off.
The hospital is 14 miles away and we were there in 12 minutes. Don moaned with every bump in the road and that would cue Lauren to start sobbing all over again. I pulled up in front of the emergency room entrance and told Ashlee to help Don in while I parked the car. We parked and headed in to find Don. Based on the angle of the wound, I would have thought someone might have questioned me as to my whereabouts during the incident or if I was perhaps not pleased with my Christmas gifts. No one really seemed to care.
After completing the necessary paperwork, we sat waiting and Ashlee came walking out of the ER sipping from a juice box with eyes the size of saucers. I said, "What's the matter???" She said, "I saw the inside of Dad's arm." She was clearly scarred for life. Lauren, who had finally stopped sobbing said, "Where did you get a juice box?!?" Ah, Lauren was back.
They stitched Don up from the inside out and we headed back home. The prime rib turned out perfectly, however I was the only one to eat it after Don announced, "I can't eat that, it looks like the inside of my arm." This grossed the girls out, in between bites, I said, "Mmmm pass the gravy!"
That Christmas was memorable for two reasons. It was a nice old fashioned Christmas, we were watching our pennies and all of our stuff was in storage, so our Christmas decorations were all homemade -we even made an amazing gingerbread house. The second was the stabbing.
Christmas morning was spent opening presents, eating breakfast and sipping mimosas, it was truly lovely. A fire was roaring in the fireplace, Christmas music filled the house and I had my favorite meal to prepare, prime rib, Yorkshire pudding, green beans and gravy. At high noon I fired up the oven and started preparing the meat. Santa had given the girls snowshoes and they were eager to give them a trial run. Each pair was held together by zip ties, or urban handcuffs as I like to call them. The girls asked Don if he could cut the ties. You see where this is going don't you? He pulled out his buck knife, opened it, picked up the snowshoes and promptly plunged the buck knife into his forearm. How festive!!
I was puttering in the kitchen when Don said, "Honey, honey, honey, I've got a problem." I didn't even turn around, "What's the matter?" He continued, "Honey, a BIG problem!!!" Sensing this was on the serious side, I turned around to see him grasping his forearm in his hand. When he released his hand a crimson fountain sprang up about two inches. My first words? "Oh Jesus Christ!" I'll be the first to admit it was a frustrated exclamation. This was followed by me whipping around to find a dish towel and muttering, "Freaking prime rib is in the oven, there's a fire going, great, just great!" I stomped into the living room said, "Give me your arm." and proceeded to put a tourniquet on the wound as tightly as I could. I turned around to find Lauren standing in the middle of the living room crying her eyes out, "Dad!! Dad!!! Dad!!!" I told her, "Stop crying, he's not going to die." Ashlee was holding up pretty well. I told her to push the screen against the hearth and walk Dad to the car. I got Lauren's coat, shock was settling in with her, my coat and made sure everything was off.
The hospital is 14 miles away and we were there in 12 minutes. Don moaned with every bump in the road and that would cue Lauren to start sobbing all over again. I pulled up in front of the emergency room entrance and told Ashlee to help Don in while I parked the car. We parked and headed in to find Don. Based on the angle of the wound, I would have thought someone might have questioned me as to my whereabouts during the incident or if I was perhaps not pleased with my Christmas gifts. No one really seemed to care.
After completing the necessary paperwork, we sat waiting and Ashlee came walking out of the ER sipping from a juice box with eyes the size of saucers. I said, "What's the matter???" She said, "I saw the inside of Dad's arm." She was clearly scarred for life. Lauren, who had finally stopped sobbing said, "Where did you get a juice box?!?" Ah, Lauren was back.
They stitched Don up from the inside out and we headed back home. The prime rib turned out perfectly, however I was the only one to eat it after Don announced, "I can't eat that, it looks like the inside of my arm." This grossed the girls out, in between bites, I said, "Mmmm pass the gravy!"
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