Yes, Grumpy is on the Chopping Block -literally.
As has been duly noted in Grumpy’s medical blogs, an irregular heartbeat has him taking various medications that provide a definitive TIMEX effect – effectively assisting him to keep on ticking. One medication called Apixaban is a blood thinner that prevents clotting, as blood clots leading to strokes are the big danger when your ticker tends to hop, skip and jump.
Grumpy told Dr. Kennedy that it is more likely that Pumba the Farting dog will be the cause of Grumpy’s stroke. He asked the good Doctor if he might have a remedy for that.
Dr. Kennedy kindly replied, “Sorry Grumpy, you can’t fix stupid!”
Now when you take powerful blood thinners you are susceptible to heavy bleeding. As Doctor Kennedy stated, “I don’t advise you to be around power tools or chainsaws.” This made Mrs. Grumpy very happy given her husband’s propensity for pratfalls, injury and sketchy construction skill.
The doctor also said that a serious car wrecks could be a problem.
“You see, Grumps, there is no antidote for Apixiban like there is for Warafin.”
(Warafin is blood thinning Rat Poison ingested by humans, by the way.)
“No problem, Doc,” Grumpy insisted. This effectively gave Grumpy permission to drive even slower, even though he already was drawing frequent two finger salutes and an occasional horn blast.
Nonetheless, Grumpy decided to sign up for this therapy, promising himself to be exceedingly careful and to avoid sharp or pointed objects at all cost.
Well, a year went by and Grumpy did experience the odd nick and scratch. Indeed, blood oozed easily out of these wounds, but his clotting factor was duly instituted – eventually – and there ended the leak of bodily fluid. These trickles were no big deal.
Yesterday was a different story.
Grumpy was using a cleaver to chop some chicken wings into delectable pieces. Yes, he knows that a cleaver might have been a poor choice of tool. However, he wasn’t about to get into a rumble with roaming zombies like in the movies. He was splitting wings for crying out loud. This task was Puppy Chow – right?
Chop! Chop! Chop!
Chop! Chop! Chop!
The cleaver was splitting those wings apart like a hot knife through butter. There’s nothing like a sharp tool to make life easier.
Mrs. Grumpy demonstrated her concern when she said, “Do you think you should be using THAT, Grumpy?”
“Ah, I’ll be careful, hon,” Grumpy smiled, taking his eyes off his task for but a moment. “It’s not going to be a problem!”
That’s when he felt a slight pain during his subsequent down chop. Yes, he had struck his left index finger a glancing blow. It was on the hand holding the wing.
Withdrawing his hand, he removed his finger from the chicken parts and stared. He had neatly and deeply sliced off a dime sized chunk of skin.
At that point Grumpy expressed his mother, Hellfire Helen’s, favourite expression of surprise and consternation
But, for an instant, no blood appeared.
Not a trickle.
Suddenly pin prick red dots emerged around the wound and the oozing began. This oozing quickly turned into a torrent. Grumpy grabbed a tissue in order to apply pressure just as the Good Wife bellowed, “What did you do now, Grumps?”
“Oh. Nothing, dear,” Grumpy lied.
He was now holding his injured hand high over his head, while continuing to split wings with the other. Unsupported chicken wing parts were beginning to become airborne on each chop. The zombies of Pinegrove were running for the hills. It appeared to them as if Grumpy was on some sort of rampage.
Seeing this behavior, Mrs. Grumpy sighed and said, “You cut your finger, didn’t you?” You see, after 27 years with Grumpy, she too is of the school of you “can’t fix stupid.”
Well old Grumps tried everything to staunch that bleeding. He raised his hand high, he applied pressure, he applied ice, ran the thing under cold water and finally applied a pressure bandage but to no avail. His dang fingertip began to turn blue because his bandaging was too tight. After tearing the damn thing off (the bandage not the finger) Grumpy was seriously considering a quick trip to emergency because nothing seemed to work. He was looking at one hour bleed that only stopped when pressure was applied.
Grumpy can imagine the scene in emergency as he held this insignificant “boo boo” high over his head whilst those from the car wrecks, coronary events and severed appendages wondered, “What the hell is that old fart doing here? What a baby!”
Now, if this were you, the bleeding probably would have been just as severe. However, your coagulants, under continuous pressure would have stopped the bleeding forthwith.
In Grumpy’s case, the bleeding finally stopped about an hour and a bit from chopping time. Grumpy had placed a giant blob of Polysporin on the wound and then bound it up with a loose fitting bandage. Like the Dutch boy’s finger in the dike, this plug of messy salve seemed to do the trick.
Later, as Grumpy was roasting the wings in the oven, he wondered where his severed flap of skin had fallen. You see human skin appears almost similar to chicken skin in colour, texture and touch. He wondered if it also compared to chicken skin in flavour. That, of course, is what he was hoping as long as ingestion of human skin didn’t turn his family into a pack of flesh eating zombies.
Until this is proven false, Grumpy will keep his handy-dandy cleaver at arm’s length. It would be just plain stupid to do otherwise, right?