Bravery

 

June 4, 2000 

I went fishing on the Dogpound Creek yesterday afternoon and then again later that evening. Managed to put a hook through my pants and into my leg. Don't ask how, it was just a lapse in clear thinking.  It happens, leave it alone.  I couldn't back the hook out even though I had previously crimped the barb down. My pants were, in effect, stapled to my leg, which made walking almost impossible and so I cut the shank with the mini side cutters I always carry for just such an event. Well, thank God home was just a 100 meter limp away. All the way I pulled my pant leg away from my knee so the hook would not catch the fabric. I could feel the imbedded hook wiggling as the muscle flexed with each step.

In my kitchen I sat myself down, gingerly took my pants off and saw this little hunk of steel wire sticking out of my leg just above my knee. "Is that it?" I said to myself, "It's so tiny!" I took out my small hemostats that I use to free fish of their hooks and thought I could grab it and just push it through as I had seen John Wayne do with Apache arrows to some poor unfortunate wounded trooper in a movie. "Yah," I thought, "I can do that." I took two good shots of Gin and began my work. I could make the skin poke up, but the hook point would not continue to penetrate its way out despite my twisting of the little piece of exposed wire. It was like as though the skin were tougher on the inside than the outside! Watching it poke up, but failing to push through made me get woozy and feel a little sick. I called Keith, my neighbour, to come over and do it.

He quickly appeared with mechanics tools, selected big 'geezuz' pliers, got down on his knees for a closer look and decided he was not the man for the job. He called his personal doctor, Glen, in Cochrane for advice. He said he could do it, but that he had no anesthetic. Nicely primed on two more Gins I replied that it was okay and that all I wanted was to have it out. So, Keith did the ambulance driver routine and took me to Glen's by 11:30 that night. I had no idea ancient Toyota four cylinder diesel Land Cruiser's could go that fast!  They actually can't, I had forgotten about the few hits of Gin I had consumed, but the tires really did spin on the gravel!  Keith going, "WheeOoo, WheeOoo!" must have been the inspiration for that old beast to get up and go and for me to feel enormous acceleration and a sense of speed. Well, there, too, the Gin just might have played a role.

Anyway..... 

Once at Glen's, he sat me in a dining room chair, redirected one of his ceiling spot lights to my knee, got out his big "You could hold a kidney with that!" hemostats and asked which way the hook was pointed. I showed him, then looked away as he grabbed the exposed end, twisted the point the rest of the way through.  I sucked air through my teeth and gave a little yelp once I felt the point push through the skin. Then with another 'stat, Doctor Glen grabbed the point and pulled it through. The relief was instantaneous upon its removal. A half dozen of Traditional Ale and another of Rikard's Red was the good doctor’s price, which I gladly paid a few days later.

Even though we were entertained with pale green Northern Lights, the return trip in the 'ambulance' , the emergency over, was much more subdued. Which was good as the gin had worn off along with all my bravery and bravado. John Wayne wasn't so tough, but the trooper who had the arrow pushed through him, now, HE was tough!