Fishing widow to the rescue!

"Do we have any ammonia?" my breathless husband said on the other end of the phone.
"Huh?" I asked, not knowing what he meant. I was on my way out the door, having a grocery list of items to get before heading to back-to-back child birthday parties with our son. For my husband, that meant he had a day to himself. Because, he explained, he wasn't expected to attend the birthday parties. So, while I was off having my fun of finding two thoughtful gifts, cards and wrapping paper before heading off to more fun of squealing children, pizza lunches, bounce houses and cake, he was getting his fishing kayak loaded into the truck.

A free day for him.

My husband has the uncanny ability to know the precise moment when I am ready to head out the door. Because, if he is out fishing, that is when he usually calls me. I think it makes him feel less guilty if he checks in from time to time.

This morning was no exception. After I spent the past 15 minutes hurrying our child to get socks and shoes on his feet and was about to leave, the phone rang. Of course, it was my husband, calling from his kayak.

"Do we have any ammonia?" he asked.

"I don't know, why?"

"I got stung by a catfish," he said. "I need it to take out the sting."

From a city girl's perspective, that sounded pretty bad. I have to admit, I never realized that catfish could sting anyone. But apparently the slime on their spines can stick into a person like a needle. These are saltwater catfish, annoying to the Florida fisherman because you can't eat them and they usually take your bait when you're trying to get snook or some other good fish.

When these catfish sting, it hurts, and it can cause an infection if not treated right away. My husband was ready to head into his truck and drive himself back to the house. This, after telling me he felt a little dizzy. I had never encountered this before. In the 12 years I've known him, he's never been stung before.

"No," I said. "Wait there, I'll bring what I can."

I corralled my child into the car, armed with alcohol. I couldn't find ammonia. When I found him, he was applying chewing tobacco to the sting, which didn't look nearly as badly as I imagined it would look.

"That's disgusting. When did you start using that?" I sneered, annoyed at the stuff he was putting into his mouth.

"But this is the best thing for stings like this. You should be grateful I had it with me," he protested.

I had to admit, the tobacco seemed to take the sting out, and helped stop the bleeding and swelling. So, I was grateful -- a little. I still was grossed out when he started spitting. Yuck!

I drove him back home and took him to the store for some ammonia, trying not to look at the clock and sigh at how far off my schedule I was now.

When we got back home, he said he was feeling better. I could go about my day,  he said.

But first, could I please drive him back to his fishing spot so he could go back out on the water?

Yes, like a true supportive fishing widow, I took him back so he could finish his day of fishing. Sigh.