One hot summer day I asked Mom and Daddy to take me to Woodard Lake for a quick cool-off swim. Woodard Lake was the closest place that had a swimming pavilion.
When we got there, I was dismayed that the place, bar and all, was closed and deserted. The shallow water swimming area was fenced with chicken wire, but with Daddy’s approval, I climbed the fence and enjoyed showing off my swimming ability, and getting cool.
Then I put my foot down. Ouch! I stepped on a broken beer bottle and cut a big deep gash in my foot. I clinched my teeth, and climbed back over the wire fence, bleeding profusely.
During the short ride home, I was in the back seat, with my leg up, and holding my foot as tight as I could. Still bleeding profusely, I asked if we were going to the hospital. Mom said, “no, Daddy was a medic in the army, he’ll fix it at home,”
At home, Daddy cut a “butterfly” fastener out of adhesive tape, and fastened the edges of my cut tightly together. Then he wrapped my foot in gauze bandage which quickly turned red with the oozing blood. Daddy said, “Don’t worry, it will stop soon.
I did worry, but the bleeding stopped, and the foot healed. Daddy to the rescue!
That was a big cut; glad Dad new how to handle it!
Great to have your own medic! Good job, Dad!
Wow! That’s what one calls, hometown or country remedy, or down-to-earth common sense. How old were you then?