When the Winter Solstice arrived, the dusk of that darkening midwinter day found me stumbling at the foot of the stairs where ornate brass candlesticks are affixed on either post. I immediately realised with wet stickiness everywhere that I had been impaled. Blood oozed fast and furious. Sarah was on the verge of fainting. And who could blame her? My blue and green shirt quickly turned deep crimson.
Sarah nevertheless had the forethought to bundle me into the jeep and dash me to the local hospital where I was assessed in A & E. The ugly wound was irrigated with saline solution in the first instant, and I was eventually put together with many, many glue strips. The type of wound meant that stitches could not be employed. I was kept there for five hours, the overriding concern being infection which so far I have thankfully avoided. This morning I saw the GP practice nurse, and was told I am as yet infection free. Even so, I had a tetanus jab. She redressed the six inch wound. I'll be back next week.
What saved me from a worse fate was my winceyette shirt. It remained unpierced, meaning that the brass candlestick cherub's arm was enfolded within the shirt 's material when it impaled me. I would have kept it as a blood-soaked relic, but it had been put in the washing machine by Sarah as soon we returned home from the hospital. We shall nevertheless hereafter call the item my miraculous shirt.
It happened to my right arm, the one I use; so I cannot write greetings and thank you notes. Sorry.
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