One of the worst things ever is being directly responsible for the wellbeing of someone you care for very deeply but, at the same time, being forced to inflict pain and potentially life threatening injuries in order to save them.

Or getting a ring stuck on someone’s finger.

I take a good deal of the blame. I should have more emphatically protested the night I handed her that white gold torture toy, but someone back me up: it is nearly (and I say nearly only to appease the double XXers out there) impossible to stop a woman from putting on the ring the moment it is handed to her.

If, however, the whole thing is to be a surprise, or you waste way too much time trying to pick a ring, or you’re just a numbskull, it is almost equally as impossible to pick a ring the right size. Additionally, rings are cast smaller than average (shrinking is harder than expanding), and jewelers refrain from making changes willy-nilly because it lowers the integrity of the ring each time it undergoes such stress.

Anyway, I’ve practically told the story. We tried several times to get the ring off beginning Saturday night and ending in panicked, wildly unsafe extraction efforts. I didn’t really begin to panic until Monday morning when I arrived at Angela’s to examine the evidence of Sunday’s efforts: swelling, bruising, and tear stained cheeks.

We did our best to let the finger rest Monday (I think she still tried from time to time to see if majik had happened). That night, Doug and Tyler were over for Operation Don’t Have to Call the Fire Department.

Tools: 1) Ice 2) Water 3) Bucket 4) Window Cleaner 5) Towels 6) Undisclosed Analgesics

O Happy Day

I have a low tolerance for cold; icing anything on me requires some sort of restraint. My baby stuck her hand in a bucket of ice water for 30+ minutes. Yes, there was kicking, screaming, various expressions of pain and suffering, but, overall, a rather well maintained composure. Google suggested that we watch for extreme color changes in body parts exposed to such extreme cold. So we did.

The thing that really confused me was that she could feel pain after a certain threshhold; namely, the one where your finger turns bright purple.

Picture the scene (for obvious reasons, we were a little too distracted to take pictures): Doug had taken a hold of her palm; I was holding tight to the ring; all the while, Tyler dutifully applied copious amounts of window cleaner (don’t worry mom, it was a generic). I pulled and coaxed and cajoled while doug did the same from the other end. We got some movement! The thing was actually coming off! Until it stopped!

It literally was stuck between an ever swelling finger and an ever swelling knuckle. Angela’s finger began to turn blurplack. The screaming began.

If, at any point in your life, you need someone to do something to you that will hurt, and hurt a great deal, here is a piece of advice: find someone that HATES you. Love gets in the way.

I was about to push the ring back toward her palm, hoping it hadn’t swollen too much. I was about to really, honestly, genuinely freak out. People parts should not be that color. It was only through Doug’s encouragement (he doesn’t do well with losing) and desparately muttered prayers that I struggled on. The window cleaner flew like a torrent from the heavens. I hesitated for another moment, torn between causing pain and risking permanent damage to a finger I’m rather fond of, potentially having to cut in half something that had cost me time, money, and a great deal of emotional investment, and other, potentially unconsidered outcomes.

Then, what I will forever remember as what happiness is like, the thing popped off like a moscato cork, unexpected and loud (that may have been Angela), and I ducked. And now, when I sign a deal or an employee surpasses my grandest expectations, I will almost always feel happy. And I will duck.