“Is it broken?” Was the first thing out of my mom’s mouth when she saw the rapidly expanding goosegg on the back of my hand.
I flexed my fingers. No, no pain, although the cut from the hog pannel stung.
She gave me an “oh shit” look. “Let’s get some ice on it.
Mom has a stubborn tiller. Dad left it where he stopped tilling only a few days ago. If you have never tried to move a tiller while it is not running, you might want to grab a few robust young men to help you. Since it was just mom and myself, we felt that we could start it.
Flip the switch to choke, pull the crank, then try to give it a bit more gas before it dies. We flooded it out once and had to wait a bit to try again. I almost had it started the second time around but it died. I got a bit aggrivated and gave the pull cord a mighty heave.
I felt the sting of metal against my skin. I glanced down for just a moment, just a scratch I assumed as I readjusted the throttle. Then I grabbed for the pull again. I kind of froze realising there was an odd deformity on the back of my hand.
She looked up as I held out my hand to her. I could see the immediate panick in her eyes. “Is it broken?”
Luckily, I did not break any bones in my hand or wrist for that matter (and no we did not go the the ER to check). I do believe that I did break one of the veins in the back of my hand. The goosegg went down after liberal application of icepacks for a few hours. I will, however, have quite a bruise across and down my hand. It is already a lovely purpleish color.
So that was my adventure for this weekend, how was yours?