2005-07-15 - 9:18 a.m.
SQUIRRELS IN THE ATTIC
By Peter Fredson
July 15, 2005
Some years ago, on a cold winter morning, with snow and ice covering the ground, I received a phone call from my neighbor, Chris. He asked if he could borrow my 36-foot aluminum extension ladder. I replied in the affirmative and asked if something needed repair.
He responded that he had heard noises in his attic, and suspected squirrels had gotten in, and were probably chewing up the wiring insulation. He had been able to peer in the attic, saw a dead squirrel there but wanted to go through the attic window to check further.
I dressed warmly, and then went out to my garage to carry out the large ladder. We positioned the ladder underneath the window and noted that the ground was slippery with ice. We decided that Chris would climb up the ladder while I steadied it and prevented it from sliding.
Chris climbed up the first extension of the ladder, then pulled the ladder rope to extend the ladder farther. For some reason the catch to hold the extension did not hold and the extension flew down the ladder and the sharp bottom hit my right thigh. Luckily I had on thick trousers or the wound might have been greater. Blood spurted out through the ripped pants and an intense pain had me kneeling on the ground.
As I had medical training I immediately applied pressure to prevent further bleeding while Chris rushed into his house for paper towels to cover the wound temporarily. He then started up his car and we drove to the local hospital, only a few moments away.
A large Swedish physician in the emergency room looked at the blood on my pants leg and asked what had happened. I replied that it was all the fault of squirrels in the attic. He was obviously taken aback, suspecting perhaps that a knifing incident had occurred, possibly a crime of some kind. He demanded more details.
I then explained about the ladder, the snow and ice on the ground, the catch on the ladder that didn’t “catch”, the sudden descent of the ladder on my leg and how the sharp edge of the ladder had produced the wound.
Fortunately no blood vessel had been cut, and most of the bleeding had stopped. The physician was not completely satisfied but immediately set upon stitching up the wound, producing exquisite pain.
After the stitching the physician called over another doctor, and an intern, and a nurse, and had me repeat the story, while they shook their heads in disbelief, and one even giggled. I think they would have wanted me to stay and tell my story to the rest of the hospital staff, but I insisted that I was good to go, and had to leave immediately.
The wound healed up fine. There were no after effects except for a long scar on my thigh. I have never had to show it to anyone since, but if for some reason someone sees the scar and asked me how it came about, I intend to say that a Nazi soldier bayoneted me.
