Last Saturday began as any other. Had a cup of coffee or more accurately, three, and my english muffin. My husband left about 7:30 to take the dog for his morning walk and informed me that when he returned he planned on trimming the front bushes. I went into panic mode. Why? Well, he's willing but like most men, he approaches such a task with gusto rather than artistry. Now, these boxwoods are my babies, lush and healthy and are positioned right under the front windows of our house. They are the prettiest boxwoods I have ever seen and grew nearly 30% since last spring. They really needed trimming!
My husband had begun the trimming yesterday and before I knew it he took that hedge trimmer went right from the bottom to the top and shaved them. I mean, it's the difference between...I'll explain. Imagine a guy walking into a barbershop with a beautiful head of hair and telling the barber to give him a trim, you know, "just a little off the sides" and he walked out with a crew cut. So when he said he was going to finish up the bushes, I brushed my teeth, washed my face, threw myself together and dashed out to supervise.
When he returned, I was ready to go and he began the...TRIMMING. Yikes!! My bushes were starting to look like big green boxes. Having sensed his frustration, I asked if I could take over the shaping. He handed me the trimmer and I was off. I will say this, it's not as easy as you might think and to get the hang of using a hedge trimmer, never having used one before, is a bit challenging. I rounded off the first bush and went on to the second, figuring when I was done I'd go back and perfect the trimming so each one looked identical.
I was feeling pretty confident by now as I began trimming the last bush, and from this point, I'm a little foggy. All I knew was something bit me! OUCH! Gosh, my index finger hurt and, holy cow, it's bleeding like gang-busters! I went into the house to put on a band-aid and when we both took a good look at it, we agreed that the best thing to do was to go to the clinic and have the doctor on call sew it up. It took 10 stitches to close it and a splint to keep the finger from bending. Want to know the good thing that came out of this? The doctor on call was a real peach, empathetic, sweet and very capable. We weren't happy with the doctor we had been seeing and asked if she would take both Frank and I as patients. What she said was, "I'm not really taking new patients but I'll make an exception with you two, because you're so nice." Yay!!
So I've got a finger (on my left hand) that's chewed up pretty good, a metal splint, and a new doctor. We're thrilled (about the new doctor not the stitches.) I get the stitches out in ten days and believe me, it could've been much worse.