I was going to try to wait to post this, but the stitches come out tomorrow so I’m going to have to do things a little bit out of order. So, for those of you who wanted all the gory details…HERE THEY ARE. At last.
It was Wednesday afternoon. Everyone was hyped up on caffeine due to the successful Pepsi Day we had celebrated earlier (post forthcoming) and the rain, which had been falling all day, wasn’t dampening anyone’s spirits. Dad, Stephen and Brother suited up in their rain gear and went out to go fishing. Mom, Sister, The Kid, Laura, Joey and I stayed back at camp and played games.
Before long, the rain stopped and Joey got bored. There were two beautiful birch logs laying down by the landing, and he was itching to make us some firewood for the evening’s fire. So, hatchet in hand, he went down and began hacking all the branches off to make the sawing process easier.
I went down to visit him and I gave him a kiss. I did not realize he was holding the axe in a very axe-murderer fashion until I heard a lot of giggles and obnoxious whispers coming from those sitting under the rain tarp up the hill.

Doesn’t he look sinister? Oh…the foreshadowing.
Half an hour later he had the branches off the logs and was getting ready to saw them into the appropriate sizes for a fire. He was really getting the hang of it, too, and was getting quite speedy.
I glanced down to check on his progress and noticed he was kicking one of the logs.
“Don’t kill it, honey!” I teased him.
Then…as if in slow motion…I saw him jump in the air. Both feet left the ground. The saw was still in his hand. He came down on the log he had sawed halfway through (thinking, of course, that this would save him time and he wouldn’t have to finish sawing the rest of the way) and the log rolled out from under him. He fell right on the saw he had been holding when he jumped into the air.
“JOEY!” I screamed.
He was sitting on the ground, looking shocked. Then I noticed it. Blood, everywhere.
“OH MY GOSH!” I panicked. I started shaking and flipping out. Joey just sat there, oozing.
Mom, Sister and Laura flew into action. The Kid ran to get the camera. Mind you, no one in my family really ever hurts themselves so we weren’t sure what to do. But Joey, Mr. Boy Scout (who should have known better, made his way up to one of the seating logs and began giving directions.
“Flush it with betadine. Good. I think the bleeding is slowing down… can someone give me some gauze? Thanks. Can someone cut this tape?”
I laid my head on his shoulder and bawled whimpering, “You’re going to die!” and other helpful things every so often.
Finally, he was patched up. The bleeding appeared to be stopped.

We ordered him to sit in a camp chair and not move. He remained in this position for about twenty minutes and then rebelled against us and began walking around camp.

Here is his disgusting injury shortly after we got him bandaged up. At this point, we were unsure what to do…should we stay in the BW and assume his hand would be OK? Or should we pack it up and try to leave the next day. The guys were still out fishing, so they hadn’t come back to hear the dreadful and disgusting news yet.

Shortly after Joey got patched up, I quit crying. Then, suddenly, for no reason at all. I fell apart. I began crying over absolutely everything and nothing all at once. The sibs and mom were trying to comfort me and not laugh at me at the same time. It proved to be a challenge.

Laura’s look tells the story.

“Sister, you must stop crying. Joey will be fine,” Sister said. Please note how Joey is smiling in this picture.
“BUT HE MIGHT DIE!” I wailed.
Then someone mentioned we ought to start dinner.
“It….might…be….OUR LAST DINNER HERE!” And I began to cry all over again. Hopeless, really.

Laura escaped to the lake. She was wise. (And she was probably looking for turtles, which really liked our campsite. We had a really huge grandfather sized one who came up now and again to check us out.)

Poor Mom. She’s just not used to injured, bleeding children.

And here I am crying again.

And again. This went on for, oh, about two hours.

The men came back from fishing, victorious.

Mom met them by the landing to break The News of Joey’s injury/accident/really stupid idea to jump on a log while holding a saw.

Pops got worried.
He examined the situation and determined we’d better call our outfitters to see if they could pick us up tomorrow since we’d better leave to get Joey to the hospital. He, Brother and The Kid took our fastest canoe and the cell phone and rowed with great might and agility to the nearest, highest point: the portage into Lake Insula.
Nearly an hour later, they returned. They had successfully gotten a cell signal and were able to contact our outfitter who would pick us up tomorrow at 3:00. I began to cry again because I didn’t want to leave early. (I was a basket case.)

Mom made dinner. I cried.

Joey stood around looking pale and like death wearing an improvised sling out of Laura’s long sleeved t-shirt.

Using the fish they had caught earlier, Andrew got a lesson in filleting a Bass.

Dad caught this ginormous Walleye.
After dinner, The Kid noticed the turtles were lurking around near our landing. Stephen grabbed the fish stringer (with the fishy carcasses on it) anchored it to a real huge rock and threw it into the water to bait the turtles.

Of course, now that the turtle all knew we were there, he didn’t come.

We waited…

JACKPOT! Finally Mr. Turtle came and started munching on our fish carcasses. Andrew, risking life and limb, pulled the stringer in closer and closer to the shore so we could get a better look at him. He wasn’t the huge grandfather one we were hoping for, but it was still cool.
Fast forward to 4:30 the next afternoon. Joey and I sat in the waiting room of the Ely hospital and we looked awful. Still wearing our BW clothes (which were not clean by any stretch of the imagination), and me with pigtails in my hair, we had to look like the biggest jokes in the world. Oh, and did I mention that we didn’t have ID, insurance cards, or any methods of payment on us at the time? Because we didn’t.
They called Joey back and, in no time flat, he had been given a tetanus shot and had his hand soaking in an antibiotic solution. For an hour they soaked his hand. Finally, the doctor came in to do some stitching and I had to leave – I’m extremely squeamish.
The doctor said that the cuts were deeper than he first thought they were and that it’s a good thing we came out early to get him stitched up. Otherwise…well, who knows what, but it’s a good thing in any case.
And that, my friends, is how Joey got five stitches on vacation.
This is NOT FOR THE FAINT OF HEART…but if you like disgusting things, click this link to see Joey’s injury before stitches. I can barely look at it without passing out, though.
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