The following is a totally true and gory story. Also, yes, Andy’s doctor really writes prescriptions for hand jobs, but I don’t think you can actually cash them in at pharmacies. They’re like those coupons you give people on Valentine’s Day when you don’t feel like spending actual money on them.


He never says my name. And he definitely never calls me Britt. In fact nobody does…. ever.

I’m pretty sure if he were to introduce me to strangers he’d be like, this is my wife, we call her mama.

My name is reserved for things like, Brittany, we need to talk.

Or Brittany, where did these charges come from?

Or yes officer, her name is Brittany, I’ve never seen her before in my life.


I assumed, I don’t know, that they were at the door to shut the water off or something, because it’s the last utility that doesn’t offer online bill pay, and I don’t get stuff out of the mail box because a spider lives in there.


I didn’t expect to, like, walk into the kitchen to find him over the sink, holding his arm…


It was so hot in there. So hot. It smelled like your hand when you hold a penny for too long and your palm gets sweaty. If it wasn’t for the smell, I wouldn’t have realized it was blood at first. It was just so dark and thick and the smell… it was suffocating and I leaned against the fridge because my contacts stopped working or my eyes suddenly grew cataracts because I heard him still, but I couldn’t really see anything.


Yep, mmhmmm.

Don’t pass out.

Yes, ok.

My arm got caught in a helicopter prop. I need you to drive me to the hospital.

Oh yeah, totally.

So, I tried to do that. Twice.

I got in the car, and I turned it on and stuff, but dude? I could see his bone pieces, and he was just acting like that was normal, cool as a cucumber.

Andy Wound Blurred
Click here to see the uncensored version of this picture.

Babe, I think we should call an ambulance. You’re bleeding everywhere and I’m literally chewing vomit back down my throat.

Just roll your windows down, stick your head out, and go.

I took him to the closest hospital, which happened to be in the middle of a corn field. Our nurse was Laura Ingalls Wilder. They treated him with leeches, twenty stitches, a tetanus shot and a whooping cough vaccine.

As his arm was wrapped, and I sat hunched over with my head between my knees drinking ginger ale, old Dr. Hogue came in to check him out one final time and leave him with some instructions and pain medication.

Keep it elevated, watch for continued swelling or fevers, try not to use it for the next 24 hours…

But he can use his other hand?

Absolutely, it might be sore from the shots, but your left arm should function just fine.

See babe, your left arm is fine!

I lean behind the doctor’s back and make the always classy jerking off motion to Andy and give him a wink and a thumbs up.

You know in my day, after a husband lives through something horrific, his wife would take care of that for him. Should I write a prescription for that, Mr. Gibbons?

I love old people.


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