If there’s one profession that I would never, ever be able to support myself doing, it would be nursing. I would be on food stamps and living in public housing because I have not a single skill set that nursing requires. More specifically, I have been passing out at the sight of blood or having a needle close to my person since I was young. Since I now have a pacemaker I don’t completely pass out anymore, but get a very, very intense head buzz.
Today, I went in the barnyard and saw that Jessie had a scrape under his eye. Nothing bad, no running blood or anything, but it needed attention. I started getting a little woozy when I dabbed the antibiotic ointment on it. Deep cleansing breaths, Joan. With Very Excellent Husband Don AND Excellent Next-Door-Neighbor Joy both out of town, I really needed to man up and get the job done. I pulled myself together, finished covering the scrape with the goo and ran in the house for an espresso.
Whew, glad that’s done! With the espresso coursing through my veins, I returned to the barnyard with a nice afternoon snack of kitchen scraps for the animals. They rushed me as usual, but after a few minutes I managed to get it all dumped into the various pans around the barnyard.
Imagine my horror when I turned around to see Ethel dripping blood from her comb. Dripping. Blood.
One of my blood coping strategies when the kids were young was pressure, pressure, pressure. If my hand was over a wound, less blood was visible! (Clever, eh?) Now all I had to do was find the dog crate in the garage, catch a chicken, wrap her up in something, bring her into the house and apply pressure. With my head spinning like a top, I completed all tasks. I probably looked like a drunk leaving a bar, weaving around and leaning on things during the process.
Finally, Ethel and I got comfortable on the couch, her wrapped in a soft blanket and me holding her comb between my fingers. If I could have done that with my head between my legs to make the world stop spinning, I would have. I’m not that talented so I just tried to settle in and not fight the feeling. Whoo! Whoo!
Luckily for both of us, I felt better and the active bleeding stopped in about thirty minutes. I put her in the dog crate, hoping she would settle down and rest for a while. No such luck. She was one unhappy hen in the crate.
I let her wander around the house for a while (she seemed very happy to do that) and then took her back out to the barnyard. I was worried about the wound getting pecked (a common problem with chickens) but the other ladies were very polite. At last check she was roosting next to Lucy and all seemed well.
I’m pooped. It’s hard being a wuss. I think I know what caused all of this, but I’m too tired to think about it. But as Scarlett O’Hara says, tomorrow is another day. More later!
(Shared at Clever Chicks Hop, Homestead Barn Hop, Backyard Farming Connection, Tuesdays With A Twist, Maple Hill Hop, Down Home Hop, Homeacre Hop, Simple Lives Thursday, Frugal Days Sustainable Ways, From the Farm Hop and Farmgirl Friday!)