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I think you have it together. I have a first aid kit as well. Actually, I have three. Well stocked and believe me you will be thankful when there is a fall or a scratch that you have to attend to.
We were traveling home from a visit with family as well as a funeral. I cannot stand the long line at Buccees. He asked to go and l did. He fell and it was because he will not use his walker as needed. I was pumping gas and all of a sudden I heard all of these people saying are you ok. I thought no it can't be. He was on the ground pouring blood everywhere. I asked everyone to please give me some room . I asked if 2 guys could help in the front seat of the car. I started packing his nose, cleaning broken skin. I had an anti botic ointment I used . He had a pressure dressing in place and he had all his scrapes covered. I still had the gas handle in my car. One man thought I might drive off. Of course I had to wait in line to get the pump started again. Next trip no large places that cause this kind of bedlum. He also knew I was upset by the way as I was quiet after. He ended up saying he knew it was his fault. So before he gets out of the car the walker is at his door. His skin still gets scratches and need to be fixed as he also has orthostatic blood pressure. So no bending over. I cannot tell you how much it helps. You, are doing the same things I do. Kudos to you. Sorry.. so long. Prayers and hugs your way
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@sillyblone
Oh, my gosh, kiddo! What a story! In time, some of these experiences become amusing, don't they? At the time, a person thinks how tragic they are . . . . but, then a person's sense of humor kicks in . . . probably long after the crisis is over . . . and then it becomes another (sort of) "amusing" story to tell.
My husband is on blood thinners . . . so, whoaaa! That one could have pushed me wayyy over the edge. As bad as you feel for him . . . sometimes you just want to take the opportunity to yell and take your frustrations out on him or someone else.
This story is one that I now find (sort of) "funny".
The night we were supposed to be celebrating our new furniture (before he was diagnosed in 2018 with a baseball tumor in his belly), we were going to have some wine and a frozen pizza for a late-night celebratory dinner together. Wellllll, to make a long story short (or as short as I can, but I will try) . . . he couldn't eat a bite of the pizza but sure could drink that wine. Haaaaa . . . first "funny" chapter of a story.
I looked at him, straight in the eyes, and said, "Get your sh*t together. We're going to the ER, again!"
Soooooo, we packed everything up in the car (sadly, before I figured out we needed to keep a packed bag in the trunk of our car) . . . . and headed to the hospital. After we're there for what seemed like an eternity, in the middle of the night, they did a CT scan and found the tumor, telling us it was most likely cancer. Of course, all eyes were on me to go home and get what we needed. I sobbed the whole 15 miles or so, with my window open, screaming all the way, "F" bomb after "F" bomb. When I finally got back to the hospital, they had admitted him and moved him to a hospital room already but I didn't know how to navigate the maze of departments there; so, as politely as I could, I told the Security Guard that what he was going to do that night was to escort me upstairs to find my husband, as I couldn't possibly remember his verbose instructions as to how to get up there.
Then, about a week after they took the tumor out, he contracted an abdominal infection before they were supposed to start chemo. I rushed him to an ER near our house that we had never been to before, where they told me I would have to drive him to the hospital after they made the arrangements. I had gotten him to that ER but I had to go home again and get what we needed for yet another hospital stay. So, I left the ER and went home to get our stuff (again, sadly, before I decided to keep that packed bag in the car). When I tried to find my way back to that ER, (which we had never really been to before . . . one of many we hadn't . . . Haaa) . . . . There had been a serious car accident, blocking the only way I knew to get back to that ER . . . . and I got lost . . . . Eventually, we ended up where we needed to go but that didn't happen without my use of the "F" bomb again, crying into the phone with the nurse trying to give me directions. When I found my way back, he was lying there with that familiar ambivalent look on his face, sheets tucked under his chin, and asked me, "Now what?" I had tears streaming down my face, barely able to speak . . . and felt like my blood pressure would probably cause a BP monitor to explode. We got to the hospital where they admitted him . . . AGAIN . . . only a week after they had taken that thing out of his belly and where we stayed for, I think about 3 nights . . . THEN, a couple of months later we get a bill from a doctor whom we had never even seen. That, too, is another story for another time, as this little text box is shrinking.
Grrrrrrrrr . . . lots of stories . . . . lots of, now, funny experiences but at the time . . . just awful!
After that whole mess is when I decided to keep that packed carry-on in the trunk of our car.
Seeeee, you are not alone in setting your keyboard on fire, girlfriend! Sometimes, I can't type fast enough to squish everything I want to say in a text box. Hope I didn't bore you. It helps to talk to someone who can understand. Thanks for making it this far through my rant!