Or something.

Had my usual night of trying to get caught up with things after he’d gone to bed, including setting up his pills for the rest of the month–a tedious task that takes me at least an hour.

Finally crawled into bed a little after 5 a.m. and I know it didn’t take long for me to drop into a sound sleep.

Not even an hour into that wonderful, deep sleep a loud crash upstairs had me off the couch and dealing with a Curmudgeon on the floor we won’t discuss his condition other than his finger was at an odd angle.

By 6:15 a.m. we were sitting in a room in the ER waiting for the results of his x-ray.

Well, he didn’t break it. Nope.

He dislocated it.

Time for me to pull out my phone and start playing my zombie game since they were injecting his finger to numb it so they could put it back in place.

I am not a nurse, I never had a desire to be a nurse. I also find the older I get the more squeamish I get about certain things.

Watching him get an injection and having the finger manipulated back into place is one of those things.