Sunday, Bloody Sunday

It's a rare day when I have nothing to do, especially early in the morning. But Sunday, I had nothing to do. I mean, I had to teach math at 3, and a jazz dinner show to go to at 6, but basically that's nothing. I could sleep in. And I did. I woke up at 11:45, which is so unlike me. Who knew that I would only have about 35 minutes of peace in the whole day? I certainly didn't. I got out of bed, turned on my computer, checked my email, switched on the TV, and could almost taste the bagel with cream cheese and strawberry jam that I was about to make. I could almost taste it. Who knew I never would? I certainly didn't.

I'm going to warn you now, I am not going to spare any details. You've been warned.

I got the bagels out of the freezer, those mini Thomas' bagels that are pre-sliced, I freeze them so they last longer. I grabbed a knife, a huge serrated steak knife, because it was one that was clean. I held my bagel over the sink, you know so the crumbs wouldn't get everywhere, easy clean-up. The frozen bagel offered a bit of resistance, and so I pushed with my super-human strength, right into my finger. I'm not talking straight down though, more at an angle parallel to the surface of my finger, creating a flap of skin about the size (thickness to) of a dime hanging from my finger. It took me a while to see how big it was because the first thing I did was drop the knife and bagel into the sink and run to the bathroom. In hindsight, I'm not sure why. I ran to the bathroom to use the sink. I was already standing right at a sink. But, I went to the bathroom. I instinctively ran my finger under water - OW! Not smart. So I grabbed some toilet paper and began to wrap my finger up. Blood was pouring out. More blood than I would have liked to have seen. I wrapped and wrapped. I decided to apply pressure and put my finger over my head. At this point I began pacing around, wincing, and freaking out. On one of my laps around the apartment I passed the bathroom and saw that I had gotten blood everywhere, so with my finger still wrapped and bleeding above my head I pulled out the Clorox spray and a sponge and began cleaning it up. I mean, you gotta stay ahead of the mess.

I decided I needed to tell someone, anyone, what was happening - in case I passed out and died from blood loss, maybe someone would know. As I had mentioned I had already turned on my computer, it was sitting right there with my email open and google chat on. I had this conversation with a friend online:

me: ijust totslly sliced my finger open.....

owwwwwwwwww

Him: i know how that goes for sure

[my friend had recently sliced his finger, but one band aid fixed that]
me: no i think mine is a bit worse

there is blood everywhere....

oart of my finger might be missing...

im not sure a band aid is going to work

Him: you got a hospital you can go to?

do you need an ambulance?

me: no ambulence...

ok, so my mom isnt home.

how do i make it stop bleeding....

Him: well you can still type, so I'm not that worried about you

[little did he know that I was mopping up my blood as I typed. People, I am hard core!]

Eventually my roommate came home and my friend Melanie came over with first aid supplies (and ice cream, thanks Mel!) My roommates insurance has a 24-hour nurse hotline to call, so I called it. I was then subjected to a slew of questions that ranged from typical, "what's your DOB?" to abnormal, "have you successfully removed the knife from your finger?", to the absurd "And you are sure the cut is not to your eyelid or abdomen?" After about ten minutes on the phone, it was decided I should, in fact, see a doctor. So about an hour and a half after the incident Melanie and I headed off to the hospital. Now, if you've read this far I should point out - I HATE HOSPITALS. Also, I hate needles, pain, blood, really, just about anything that was happening.