Cousin Reunion #2: Tragedy strikes

Now, before I get too far into the tale of the cousin reunion, I feel I should backtrack just a minute and tell you the saddest story ever, of a misfortune that befell me on the eve of this illustrious event.

The night before the cousins were to meet at Kanuga, those of us that were already in town gathered at my Uncle Ken's house for dinner. We had a very nice night with lots of hors d'oeuvres and drinks because that is just how my Uncle Ken rolls. For dinner we had cheeseburgers and for dessert we had a delicious trifle. We were having just the best time.

I had been sitting in the same chair since dinner began, so you would think I was safe from any horrible fate, right? Especially when you consider that I specifically chose that seat so that I would be safe if the chandelier fell or if a snake crawled in from the deck. I was close to the bathroom in case of emergency and I picked a place that I thought would generally be safe from assassins, which is more than I can say for those who chose to sit directly in front of a window. I took every conceivable precaution against any possible horrible fate.

Then, tragedy struck.

I don't remember exactly why I did this--I bet it was to get more comfortable amidst all the sparkling conversation that was occurring--but I ran my hand across the seat of my chair. A sharp stabbing pain! I looked down and saw blood. I'd been struck! Even in the midst of my blinding agony, I knew that there was glass in my hand. I could kind of see it below the bubble of blood that threatened to drench the chair and leave me bleeding to death.

I immediately called out for my mother. Whether she was just intoxicated or truly doesn't love me is anyone's guess, but when I told her there was glass in my hand she dismissed me immediately. The gushing of blood did not move her sympathies in the slightest. "It was probably just a nail sticking up out of the chair," she said. "Just go wash it off."

I raced off. In the back of my mind I wondered why she wasn't immediately on the phone with medical authorities to arrange for a tetanus shot, but I tried to stay brave in the midst of the carnage. I stuck my hand under the faucet, and when the blood was finally cleared away I could see the shard of glass in the palm of my hand. I turned to Uncle Ken and stuck the wound in his face. "Glass!" I shrieked. "Get it out!" Ken was quick as a surgeon and removed the glass. Then he put some apinol on it and then he gave me two shots of vodka.

After that I was pretty much fine for the rest of the night, though I did continue to wonder about my mother's reaction. As my brother George would remind me, though, it was nothing like what happened to him when he was 4 years old. He drove his big wheel through the brush pile and got all the skin on his arm all burned off. When he tried to show my dad, Dad told him just to go in for dinner. But the difference is that when George was 4, he couldn't talk that well, so they didn't know what he was saying. Whereas I am fairly sure that I clearly enunciated. Just to be sure that I was indeed enunciating, I repeated the story of the glass over and over to my cousins the entire weekend. I know they really enjoyed that.

As you can see, I survived my injury and even now, I can type with no shooting pains in my right hand. But it did kind of throb for a minute or two when I woke up on Friday! And I couldn't give high-fives with my right hand the whole weekend! And if the glass had been dirty my hand could have gotten infected and fallen off! The point of the story is that I persevered and overcame tragedy to make it to the cousins reunion.