I Keep Me In Stitches

Warning: medical/trauma stuff ahead. Also, please forgive any typos. I'm typing one-handed.

Alicia received a six pound honey baked ham from her employer for Christmas. She also received a very nice, very sharp set of knives. I was cutting and packing the rest of the ham to freeze for a later date, using the lovely new eight inch chef's knife. A ham is slightly awkward, and a fork wasn't working to steady it for the last few slices, so I held the bone firmly in my right hand. The cuts were quick and true, and I was almost finished when the heel of the blade hit upon the other end of the bone. The heavy blade, its handle lubricated by the sweet pork juices --that sounds awful, doesn't it? -- slipped free of my grasp and shot upward. Everything slowed down. I saw the knife coming down like a wicked guillotine toward the side of my hand. I let go of the bone as if it had become a small sun, and pulled back as quickly as I could. The knife struck home; not where it would have at the place my right index finger meets the palm, but one knuckle up.

Much blood. Oh no!

I somehow caught the slippery knife in my left hand and flicked it into the sink basin, turning on the faucet in the same motion. The chilly water rushed over my hand, flushing away the crimson so I could see the extent of my injuries.

Finger not severed. Oh yes!

You know your day isn't going well when you're celebrating the fact that your finger hasn't been cut off. I applied first aid for forty-five minutes. The next forty-five were spent discussing the injury with a nurse at my doctor's office and then pulling myself together --literally!-- for a journey to the emergency room. I didn't have any latex free bandages, so I improvised with a some gauze and masking tape. I managed a shower with a plastic grocery store bag and more masking tape. Geoff, my father-in-law, took me to UNC Hospital and provided tons of moral support. It was a good bonding experience for us. After a short wait, a gorgeous nurse practitioner named Sarah patched me up and kept me entertained all the while with some hockey talk. I'd love to chat with her again sometime, but I'd prefer to do it over a drink, and not a suture kit.

I'm back in one piece now, although my finger won't be usable for several days. This is the first time I've ever had stitches, so I'm not sure what to expect, but it's been more of a humorous occasion than anything else. And now, it's time for painkillers.

Cheers!