Tuesday morning was like any other morning. That is until I put on my shirt. I was planning to cast along the beach for snook that probably wouldn’t bite. But I first needed my fishing shirt. I mean, I do have standards.
As I put it on, it sounded like some velcro was caught against itself, which was in turn caught against some skin (how that could happen, I don’t know; I already checked-there was no back hair). That’s what it sounded and felt like. Until it started to hurt just a bit more than what that would have supposedly felt like.
I looked in the mirror and saw no velcro. I did however see a fish hook. So I went to Amy to ask her to pull it out. Unless it was too deep. Well it was. The barb was totally in my back. Believe me. The hook was a “worm hook” so that’s the curve of the hook you see in the pic: not the barb.
So she freaked a bit, and got her usually non-squeamish mother. She called for back-up. My brother-in-law was willing to pull it out with pliers. You know, like a band-aid. But there is a difference between something adhesive and something with a barb in your flesh.
We looked on the internet for a diagram of how to do it at home. I wasn’t really satisfied with the diagram so opted for the Walk-in clinic nearest the beach. I grabbed a pop tart, and we (my father-in-law) left around 8:00 am. My mother-in-law safety-pinned my shirt together so that it wouldn’t move the hook in deeper. I looked a bit goofy. What’s new?
They numbed my back up, stuck some needle thing against the barb, and came out with the hook. It had never been used, so there was no need for antibiotics. Just a tetanus shot (who ever remembers when your last one was?), 30 dollars up front, and I was out of there, and back by 9:30 am, just in time for a bowl of cereal. Much better idea than my bro-in-law trying to rip it out of my flesh.
Anyway, my negligence in removing all my hooks from my fishing shirts before they go to the wash (I remember not finding that particular hook) was what theologians call the “secondary cause.” As was the fact that I didn’t get up to FIRST look at the waves. There was no way I would have gone fishing that morning, which would have eliminated the need for a fishing shirt. Oh, it was certainly meant to be. God purposed that hook to be stuck there, even though my negligence in checking for waves and hooks were the secondary cause which God used to “stick me.”
But if the story only stopped here. It has a better ending that will have to wait till tomorrow. All of which are a direct result of me getting hooked that morning. BTW-do you know what was the worst part? Hearing all of the “hook jokes.” It really was. Each one was less clever than the one before.