Chip and Dale Designs

THE MIDNIGHT MASSACRE

            First, let me say it wasn’t really midnight. I just thought it would be a cool title for a blog. Besides, it is much more alliterative than the 3:32 am massacre. (And I always wanted to use the word alliterative in a story too.)

 

            Now, my husband and I have a nice queen sized bed. It works just fine for just the two of us, if you know what I mean. However, when you start adding critters, it can get rather crowded, and dangerous.

            Dale, our little girl wiener dog, likes to burrow under quilts and sleep snuggled up next to me. Chip, the boy wiener dog, likes to sleep on top of the quilts, safely snuggled by Bob’s knees. From this vantage point he can safely and loudly bark at everything that goes bump in the night. Our little cat George spends the first part of the night doing cat things all over the place, but usually ends up at the foot of the bed at some point during the night. Newman our 1200 lb. cat, sleeps in a cushion next to the bed, but always comes over when somebody moves – I guess just to see what is going on.

 

            Early this morning, Newman came over to check on us and promptly fell asleep curled up next to Bob. No big deal. Many times during the night, Dale will get restless and will burrow further and further under the quilts until she comes out at the bottom of the bed. Then she will march up to the head of the bed and start the process all over. This was what she did at 3:32 AM this morning.

            However, during the long march in the dark to the head of the bed, Dale stepped on the sleeping Newman. This scared the hell out of Newman who proceeded to make a frenzied escape from whatever was attacking him over Bob’s head.

            In the process, as he was trying to gain traction for his escape, Newman proceeded to claw Bob in the eye and face. Bob let out a loud word, which woke me up. I heard this loud Meeeeeooooower noise as Newman was sent flying cross the room and crashing into my makeup table. Lipstick, compacts and tubes of war paint (don’t ask) went flying everywhere. I looked over to see Bob standing next to the bed holding his hand to his face. He muttered a few words trying to explain what happened as he dashed to the bathroom.

            You should know that Bob remains calm in almost all situations, so I wasn’t overly concerned. The dogs both decided that they may be blamed for whatever just happened and thought it best if they both went outside. So, I groggily climbed out of bed and let the little bastards darlings out.

            After I watched them pee and listened to them bark, I let them back in and gave them their reward for not peeing in the bed. As I slowly staggered back to the bedroom, I noticed my wounded husband was still in the bathroom. He was standing at the sink with a wad of toilet paper pressed against his face. There were piles of blood soaked wadded up toilet paper scattered around the bathroom. Holy Shit!!! There was blood all over his face, chest and hands. Holy more shit!!

            My immediate reaction was to call 9-1-1, but three things stopped me. Ever since my husband had a massive pulmonary embolism a few years ago, he has been on blood thinners and is susceptible to bleeding – lots of bleeding. Second, he is very averse to using ambulances. And third, we, or I, had a very bad experience the last time I tried to call an ambulance for him. Here is that story-

            Several days after Bob was released from the hospital  he started to have a nosebleed. And it wouldn’t quit. I was working at a quilt shop and he was home alone. He texted me about the nosebleed. I called and asked if he wanted me to come home or, or should I call an ambulance. The hospital folks had warned him about nosebleeds when he was discharged. He told me it would eventually quit and to definitely not call an ambulance. About an hour later he called and asked if I could come home. The nosebleed wouldn’t stop and he thought that perhaps he should go the emergency room. And again, no, do not call an ambulance.

            I told my most understanding boss what was going on and headed home. I don’t recall how fast I was going but I made the normally 20 minute drive in 10 minutes. I get home to find Bob with his shirt soaked with blood and large blood clots all over the damn place. I took one look at him and called for the ambulance. So, we headed outside, blood dripping from Bob’s nose and waited for the ambulance. I ran back in and grabbed some make up remover cloths and attempted to clean him up a bit- he looked like something out of the Walking Dead.

            The ambulance and fire truck arrived and the paramedics jumped out and started treating him. I heard one of the medics ask him what happened. So the smart ass looks over at me, winks, and proceeds to tell the medic that I had hit him in the nose. That SOB!

            Now I am escorted by one of the fireman who arrived with the ambulance off to the side- Did I really hit him?? NO I DID NOT! I did not hit him but I am going to kill him as soon as you guys leave. Bob explained to the medic that he was just joking, but that didn’t seem to make a difference.

            I could hear them asking him questions like “Do you feel safe?” or “Has anyone tried to harm you?” Another fireman and a medic come over and grilled me some more.  Now I never knew those heart monitor thingys in an ambulance can be used as lie detectors. Or as instruments of torture. I expected at any moment that I was going to be water boarded.

            We finally got everything straightened out and the medics said that it would be best if I took Bob in my car to a nearby neighborhood ER. They said he would not bleed to death in the time it would take to get him to the ER- too bad! Damn them!!! I had defied his wishes and called them. Now they were agreeing with him and saying their presence wasn’t required. Maybe I really should have hit him. End of that fun story.

            So anyway, I am standing in the bathroom door last night, thinking about the last time I saw him covered in blood, and was wondering if I should call an ambulance. He started to replace the damped toilet paper and showed me a gash running from just below his eye clear down to his jawbone. My immediate thought was that if I call an ambulance he will tell them that I attacked him with a rotary cutter.

            He continued to press the damp compress against his face. I dug out some Neosporin which he applied. The bleeding eventually stopped and we went back to bed.

            Newman had followed Bob into the bathroom and had been meowing his concern the whole time, having forgotten about his flight across the bedroom. I snuggled up closely next to Bob, much to the chagrin of the wiener dogs. Chip snuggled as close to Bob as he could get, ready to bark at anything that posed a threat. And when Dale couldn’t wiggle her way under the quilts, she came up and laid on my head.

            This morning Bob has a long scar on his face. I am sure he is going to have fun explaining that one. So, please do not believe whatever story he tells you. And he is not really auditioning for a part in that new TV show ZOO, although they may be interested in Newman.

            The real irony of the whole thing is that at 12:01 AM, Bob became eligible for Medicare. They would have paid for the friggin’ ambulance!