The Man with Nine Lives

My husband is like the cat with nine lives. (He hates cats, so he'll really hate the comparison to one!)

Last year, Jason had a tree land on him. A tree. It suddenly fell over and hit him on the back. He walked away with no problems, and just some soreness in his shoulder.

In our first week here (early May), Jason was jumping the battery on one of the ATVs we have here on the ranch. The battery arced through his wedding ring, blasting a hole in the white gold and leaving a really serious burn all around his ring finger. (In retrospect, and seeing how slow the healing has been, it was probably third degree and we should have gone to the doctor.) A month later, it's STILL healing. He has a permanent scar from his wedding ring, and an indentation in his flesh where the ring was. The finger still looks nasty. He's lucky he still HAS a finger.

Today, we were working in the new Gallery addition, monkeying up and down ladders, wiring/hanging/focusing lights. His ladder slipped out from under him, and he fell from the rafters, landing on his back. He got up and walked away. He is a little stiff, though. Says he was just practicing his audition for WWE. I almost had a heart attack. I felt so helpless as it happened, wishing there was something I could do to stop it. But there wasn't. It happened in a snap.

I'm so grateful he's okay.

At this rate, I hope he has more than nine lives.

Maybe I should change his health insurance premium.