It took Dave a few minutes to put it all together.
He had stubbed his toe on the suitcase I'd left in the doorway to the bedroom, and hopped noisily to the bathroom on one foot, cursing all the way. Kevin was barking in tandem.
Waking me out of a deep sleep. It was 1 AM.
"Come on!" I groaned. "I've got an all day strategy session tomorrow."
Those two can be so insensitive. And loud.
Apparently after Dave used the bathroom, he noticed the blood.
"There's blood all over the bathroom!" he observed astutely. "Hey. It's mine!" he added.
(Yes, Dave. 2+2=4)
Then, "My toe is gushing like a fire hydrant!"
I gave up on my pointless attempt at sleep and reluctantly entered the bathroom to see if Dave needed my help.
It was like a damn crime scene. Blood was everywhere! Puddles of bright red blood were all over the bathroom floor!
"OMG, Dave! Did you lose a toe on that suitcase? Should I call 911?"
He said, "Would you mind getting me a sock? I'll have to wear a sock to bed."
"Are you kidding?" I said. "That thing needs a tourniquet! It will laugh at a sock!"
It was like that famous Julia Child-Saturday Night Live episode. Blood was erupting from his middle toe.
I managed to find some gauze pads left over from one of Linda's many accidents and helped Dave tape up his toe. Then I got him his sock.
And I went back to bed (after I mopped up the blood).
Dave crawled into bed wearing the stupid sock. I thought about my white blanket and said nicely, "Please don't get any blood on my blanket."
My pulse was still racing as I thought of all that had happened. It was clear that sleep would not come easily for me.
In contrast, Dave was already beginning his pre-snore snorts.
How very annoying.
Then I had a thought, "Dave?" I asked. "Dave.... Dave... Dave?"
"Would you be mad if I told you I was writing a blog in my head?"
I smiled and closed my eyes. Writing all the while.