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I always try to learn something new every day. Last night I learned that if you show up in Urgent Care sweating like a maniac and holding a handful of paper towels up to your wrist, you get admitted in a hurry.
I wasn't even doing anything cool when I cut myself, like juggling axes or running illegal monkey knife fights. I was just washing dishes. I dropped a bowl (one of my favorite bowls--one of the ones with the little handle on the side), and I grabbed for it just a half-second too late. Opened up a nice gash on the side of my right wrist. I also learned that plunging a hand that's furiously bleeding into a sink full of water makes your kitchen look like Tobe Hooper's been over to visit.
Evidently my Boy Scout training is even more deeply ingrained than I ever suspected, because I didn't miss a damn SECOND in getting pressure on the wound and elevating it. Then I spent a few seconds debating whether I wanted to drive to the emergency room or just walk the block and a half to Urgent Care. I decided to walk, because it was early enough in the evening that if I fainted in the parking lot, somebody would find me. Besides, I hadn't really had the chance to enjoy the weather. So I left, started down the stairs, went back up the stairs and inside to make sure the sink wasn't still running, back down the stairs, and over to the clinic.
Forty-five minutes later, I was stitched up (I get a little woozy when somebody's sewin' up on me, but five minutes later, I'm right as rain. I'm physiologically entertaining that way) and on my way. On my way home--damn! I remembered I still had laundry in the machines. So I hauled that upstairs. Then I learned my third lesson of the evening: When you live alone, you have to clean the blood off the walls yourself.
I wasn't even doing anything cool when I cut myself, like juggling axes or running illegal monkey knife fights. I was just washing dishes. I dropped a bowl (one of my favorite bowls--one of the ones with the little handle on the side), and I grabbed for it just a half-second too late. Opened up a nice gash on the side of my right wrist. I also learned that plunging a hand that's furiously bleeding into a sink full of water makes your kitchen look like Tobe Hooper's been over to visit.
Evidently my Boy Scout training is even more deeply ingrained than I ever suspected, because I didn't miss a damn SECOND in getting pressure on the wound and elevating it. Then I spent a few seconds debating whether I wanted to drive to the emergency room or just walk the block and a half to Urgent Care. I decided to walk, because it was early enough in the evening that if I fainted in the parking lot, somebody would find me. Besides, I hadn't really had the chance to enjoy the weather. So I left, started down the stairs, went back up the stairs and inside to make sure the sink wasn't still running, back down the stairs, and over to the clinic.
Forty-five minutes later, I was stitched up (I get a little woozy when somebody's sewin' up on me, but five minutes later, I'm right as rain. I'm physiologically entertaining that way) and on my way. On my way home--damn! I remembered I still had laundry in the machines. So I hauled that upstairs. Then I learned my third lesson of the evening: When you live alone, you have to clean the blood off the walls yourself.
