Tim

A few weeks back, Tim crushed his finger ripping the radiators out of the new house. I said, "You need to go to a doctor." He did not wanna. He's been soaking his finger in epsom salts. It makes me a little squeamish to look at it. You know, the nail's all lose, etc.

But he did not wanna go to the doctor.

Actual conversation this morning: Tim gets this confused look on his face. I wait. He says, "You know, my finger is beginning to smell bad."

He did not wanna go to the doctor, but he did, anyway. And then to the hospital for x-rays to see if the infection is in the bone. The technician said, "Well. You did quite a job on that finger. Expect to hear from your doctor." (What the flip does that mean? I'll bet it is not good news...) When we were done at the hospital, we went to the Walmart to pick up some antibiotics in the handy horse size.