California Dreaming Part One

 Otherwise known as... Surviving a Stab Wound

I stabbed myself last Friday night.

For the record, I don't normally stab myself.

I was removing the pit from an avocado-- something I've done at least a hundred times before.  This time, though, since the chef's knife I normally use was in the sink after cubing up a juicy watermelon, I selected a smaller knife in lieu of cleaning the chef's knife only to dirty it again.

I chose unwisely.

I am not sure if it was the size of the knife or the lack of force, or both, but my first attempt to remove the pit was unsuccessful.  I started repeatedly stabbing at the pit-- absolutely suffering from overconfidence.  Within the span of a second, the avocado flew out of my hand and the sharp point of the small knife connected with my palm, just below the ring finger.

Ouch.

In a flash I was dealing with the consequence of stabbing myself in the palm-- blood, and lots of it.  I called out for my mom to bring me a bandage, and she disappeared for what felt like forever.  The paper towels were just out of reach, as I held my not-quite-gushing hand over the sink.  MOM!  I NEED A PAPER TOWEL!!!  I knew that the most important thing to do would be to apply pressure and raise my hand above my heart to stop the bleeding.  A few seconds later I was doing just that, as the white paper towel rapidly colored red.

Mom fretted, Do you need stitches?

NO-- I do NOT want to go to the emergency room.  

Truth be told, I probably could have done with a stitch or two, but spending a couple of hours in a germ-infested ER waiting room was the last thing I wanted to do before embarking on my long-awaited summer adventure. 

A couple of minutes later, the drama was over.  The bleeding had subsided, I had a bandage over the wound, and I was calmly consuming the troublesome avocado in front of the television, and-- as is the way of the Information Age-- Facebooking about the experience.

By Tuesday the wound had sealed, no longer requiring daily applications of hydrogen peroxide, followed by polysporin, with a bandage protecting all.  Whew. 

My relief was short lived.

On Wednesday my poor ring finger started blowing up like one of Weird Al's fingers in the Fat video.  The finger wasn't hot, or red, just swollen, and I could no longer bend it properly.  I thought perhaps I had somehow sprained the finger in all of my fussing with the stab wound, so I went to Centracare when I got back into town from my road trip minivacation to Tallahassee and Savannah.

The wait at Centracare was two hours, so I made an appointment to return the next morning.  Normally would see my general practitioner, but since I thought there might be something wrong with the bone, I sucked it up and went to an emergent care center. 

Once again, I chose unwisely.

The doctor was very helpful, and told me that the swelling on my finger was due to my body fighting a small infection related to the puncture wound.  He gave me a prescription for antibiotics, and sent me on my way. 

Nothing is coming between me and my California vacation. 


Author's Note:  The author recommends putting the avocado on a cutting board, and stabbing the pit, rather than placing the avocado in one's hand.  We have a finite number of extremities, which should be respected, and cherished.


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