So, I went hardcore grocery shopping for the first time in a long while last week with the goal in mind of keeping off the roughly eighty pounds I've lost in the past fifteen or so months, most of which was lost since this January. I went to that citadel of value and nutrition, ALDI, to get the most bang for my ever-scant buck. I saw a package of attractive knives with fluted blades and stainless steel grips--three for $10! I figured I should get them, you know, so I'd feel more like a cook and thus be less tempted to splurge on fast food so often.
I got them home along with lots of meat and grains and other accoutrements. They were in that obnoxious packaging that you commonly see housing electrical components like USB cords or generic computer mice or whatever. I had a conversation with my cousin about two days prior about how those are actually responsible for a huge number of emergency room visits, so I bore that in mind as I eviscerated the packaging. Ever careful, I succeeded in removing all three knives from their plastic abode. I then noticed, however, that there was quite unnecessarily a cable tie wrapped around the largest member of the set where the tang meets the grip with just enough room for it to be severed.
Now, scissors are always hard to find in my home. I thought that I would test the actual worth of the knives by employing them in the task of removing the cable tie. Knowing that sharp edges and a great amount of force would be used in precarious unison, I invested very great care to cut the tie in a safe direction.
Applying a meek amount of force, I could tell that the cable tie would not easily yield. After two seconds I decided that I should give up and find the scissors, so I relaxed my effort on the knives and lowered their posture.
Somehow, in the act of applying LESS force, the plastic tie yielded in perfect coalescence with a differential of movement. I felt a numb impact on my right pointer finger, watching it grace slightly with teh length of the blade. As far as sensory perception went, it seemed like I had just stubbed my knuckle as if against the edge of a rounded table. I was cognizant, however, that this was probably just shock and that my nerve endings were trying to shield me from a bleaker truth.
I set my hand at my side, refusing to look at it until I could gather an effective plan for wrapping a cut since my bandage collection was rather inadequate. I didn't have time to finish a course of action in my head before i just heard a series of rapid-fire drips of fluid hitting the floor.
I wanted to be incredulous, but the reality that hit me was that I was quickly bleeding. A lot. I looked at my hand and couldn't discern any actual tear in flesh; the font of blood was too quick for any assessment to be made. I rushed to the bathroom sink and rinsed my finger in cold water just to assess the damage, but no. The water came from the faucet clear and hit the basin of the sink crimson. So, I just wrapped it in lots and lots of toilet paper and elevated it, yadda yadda yadda.
After a few minutes of giving my wound time to collect itself, I kindly asked my roomie to cut off a few inches of culinary cheese cloth and a few lengths of masking tape. I really wanted that solution to work for as long as I could make it to the pharmacy to sterilize it and let it heal by itself. However, I didn't like the idea of driving with one hand so I called my aunt to come and evaluate it.
She laughed at the idea that I thought I could get out of this without stitches.
After about four hours, I left the emergency room with nine of them.
They used, for some reason, black sutures. This causes my finger to look necrotic and gangrenous no matter how clean it actually is. I asked my sister about this and she insisted that she's always used bright blue sutures, especially with the numerous stab wounds she had to mend as an emergency room doctor in England.
I keep trying to take pictures of my finger in a manner befitting the beauty of the stitches, but neither my nice digital camera nor my webcam seem up to task. So, these are the best I can do.
Yeah, my wild life.
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