The Ring

Have I mentioned I'm a dork? Because I am. I get myself into the most ridiculous situations and they are usually as a result of being completely absent minded. I lose things, I'm clumsy, and I'm a dork.

Yesterday my wonderful husband decided I was entitled to a shopping spree. I didn't do anything particularly memorable to deserve it, he just wanted to be nice. So he took me to the new Cross Iron Mills mall to buy a new coat, and some boots, it was very exciting!! So I dressed up, did my hair (ok blow dryed it, but that's about as close to "doing" my hair as I get) and we went out. He lasted two hours, and I had a beautiful new coat, and boots, and scarf, and jeans, *sigh* I was extremely happy....until the car ride home.

As you may or may not know, I am one of the few married women these days who's engagement ring and wedding ring are not a set, and since they don't "go" together, I don't wear them together. In fact, after having K, my engagement ring was sized a size larger than my wedding ring and I wear it on my right ring finger, which is fatter than the left. Well, yesterday, in all the excitement to get out the door and go for a kid-free, all about me, shopping spree, I must have put my rings on the wrong hands, because my wedding band, my beautiful, Tacori style wedding band, my too small for my right hand wedding band, was on my right hand. And it wasn't coming off. We were about 10 minutes away from the house when I discovered my mistake. I was wearing my new coat, and it was warm, so my finger had swollen, but I figured by the time I got home, got the coat off and cooled down, the ring would surely come off.

But no, like a cheesy scene from a made for tv movie, that ring wasn't budging. We tried everything. Hand in icewater, hand above head, butter, olive oil, dish soap, the more we pulled, the fatter that finger got. So, after over an hour, I finally gave up and started the drive of shame to the ER to have that ring, that beautiful eternity band that I had been warned could not be sized because of the detailing on the band, to have that ring that could not be repaired, cut off my finger. My stupid, sausage like finger that was starting to throb from all the pulling.

Upon getting to the "minor emergency" department in the Foothills Hospital, I was greeted by a nurse and a little man with a big bottle of what appeared to be Windex and an old towel. They wanted to give it one last go. My finger at this point was enormous, the ring could barely twist around nevermind move up or down, and I said to the nurse, "I don't think this ring is coming off". "You'd be surprised" she said and so, they got to work. Spray the finger, twist and pull, spray the finger, twist and pull.

and what did I do? I did what I had been doing since the car ride home from the mall. I prayed, I prayed and bargained, and prayed some more, and he sprayed and twisted and pulled, and it actually started to move.

By the time the ring was halfway to my knuckle my hand was aching from the pressure on of him pushing back against the rest of my hand. But he kept going. By the time it was just below my knuckle my finger was bleeding and clumps of skin were gathering around the band as the twisting of the ring rubbed my finger raw.

And when it finally slid over my knuckle and off my finger I gave that man a huge hug and started to cry.

So that is the story of the ring. I left the hospital with a finger so fat that I couldn't even bend it, bleeding and raw, and a smile from ear to ear. I still cannot believe they got if off.