Trauma Drama
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.
Finally Engaged
For those that have been paying attention or are closely involved in the planning and attendance of our wedding may have noticed something a little odd…planning sans something shiny on Angela’s left hand.
It’s true, we’ve been working on the where/how/when/who (well, maybe not the who) of our nuptuals some time before we were actually engaged. As we explain the details and the rabbit trails, hopefully everything becomes clear…but I make no promises.
The Thing
I purchased the thing from a local jeweler after many weeks of consternation and internal struggle. I made the final decision at 4:00 PM on Saturday, June 27. The store owner very kindly asked if the stone could possibly be set that day, to which the jewler kindly laughed very loud.
For several days, we had been planning to take engagement pictures (yes, sans the ring) on Saturday, June 28. This will, hopefully, become clear later. Once this time crunch was revealed, the jeweler’s heart strings were plucked and he said (ver batim) “Let’s give it a shot.”
Filled with hope, I waited for them to call while we planned a birthday dinner for our friend (and photographer) Tyler (who did his best to hide that fact that we were making him take pictures of us all day on his birthday!). We were supposed to eat at 6:00 PM (which Angela pushed back to 7:00 PM, the time the store closed), so I was sweating it a little bit. Fortunately, just before we left, I got the thumbs up from the jeweler. I dropped Angela off at the restaurant to grab a seat (6:45ish) while I ran to get a card for Tyler (which I ended up having to run all over Grand Prarie to find). As I rushed breathlessly into the darkening store front and laid down my life savings, the owner explained that the jeweler was only able to set the stone to sit in its setting, but he needed “another hour or two” to bring it up to his level of satisfaction. This was, in her opinion, OK, because the ring surely wouldn’t fit anyway and would needed to be size the following week anyway.
The Fit of the Jig
So, having no plan and having procrastinated beyond everyone’s expectations (or, as Angela so helpfully just noted, “for three years”), I was now in breathless anticipation for any moment to present itself for my heartfealt (and totally unexpected) proposal to actually follow through on the wedding plans we had already made.
Six hours later, we found ourselves walking Aston (her Christmas present) before I took off for home. We discussed our plans for the following day’s wardrobe and location demands, Aston’s unique desire to mark every tree he passed (and, being a 10 pound dog, his inability to meet such demands), and the odd color of the moon. For the morrow, her only concern seemed to be finding some more jewelery to match one of her outfits. Yes, even I could hit that slow pitch.
Casually, I drew her new hardware from the hole it had burned in my pocket and asked if “this will work”.
It’s like Shakespeare.
Anyway, that’s it, she’s done well displaying it for all interested (or nearby) parties.
