So it's Sunday afternoon and I finally cave in and decide to clean the kitchen. I held out longer than usual, bolstered by my weekend trip to St. Louis, so when I actually go in for the cleaning, it is truly horrifying. I get rid of the trash, empty the dishwasher, and basically get everything done but the wiping down of the counters and the washing of the dishes.
Just so you know, I hate doing the dishes. More than any other chore. Because when it comes down to it I sort of like cleaning, since the end result is so satisfying. Afterwards you have a sparklingly pretty house to look at. But dishes, there's no satisfaction. You're just going to get them dirty again in like 10 minutes. And it makes your hands all soggy and rough, and it smells bad. Totally unredeemable. Which is usually why I put it off for so long.
Anyways, I get to work on the dishes. Despite it having been like two weeks since the last round of cleaning, I manage to get all the dishes but 4 into the dishwasher, thus easing my burden immensely. I turn the washer on and go to handwash the remaining four glasses that didn't make it in.
On glass number 4, I'm sponging out the interior of the glass when it breaks along the rim. The nice sharp edge goes directly through the side of my pinky finger on my left hand. As I don't do well with blood and am basically a 12-year old girl, I hop up and down and shriek and panic, because I have no clue what to do and my finger is, like, spouting blood everywhere. I finally decide to make a mad dash for my bathroom to put a bandage on the gaping/gushing wound. Because that will work, right?
Leaving a lovely trail of blood in my wake throughout the entire apartment, I make it to my bathroom, pull out my box of Scooby-Doo themed Band-aids and attempt to apply one, or two, or forty to the problem at hand (Heh. At hand.). Unfortunately, every single bandage is soaked through with blood before I can successfully even get them out of the wrappers. Not necessarily panicked yet, I decide to try some pressure on the wound to see if it will slow the bleeding enough so that I don't die of a goddamn pinky wound in my (really gross) bathroom.
After about 10 minutes there is no slowing, and I'm pretty sure some sort of intervention is going to be required before I pass out. Of course, the only thing I can think of to do is call Devon, who I know is first aid certified and also awesome. (My first aid certification sadly expired in July, which is just as well, seeing as I probably would have had to have it revoked after my performance with this tiny wound.) Devon, also sadly, is literally driving to work at that exact moment. But perhaps sensing that I am on the verge of a blood related nervous breakdown, she turns around and heads back to my apartment to bravely rescue me (the damsel in distress, as it were).
By the time she gets there, the blood flow has indeed slowed considerably, possibly because most of the blood has already gushed out onto the floor of the bathroom. (Incidentally, while she is on her way over, I still had the presence of mind to clean the carpets of the trail of blood that I initially tracked everywhere. Showing that while I may panic over minor injuries, I will always remember to treat stains before they set.)
Devon takes a first-aid look at it and says that I should probably go to the hospital for some stitches. I say "Bah," and ask her to bind it up. The blood has stopped crazy flowing and I don't want to incur the wild expense that will so likely come with an emergency room visit. She is skeptical, but binds it up quite nicely, especially considering the only tool she has at her disposal is a tiny first aid kit from my car with roughly 2 bandages and a two inch square of gauze. She is my hero.
The finger only mildly hurts all day long, and I figure all is well. After work Devon comes back bearing gifts: A real-live first aid kit and a lovely first aid pecan pie. Hero doesn't even come close to describing it.
So I go to bed on Sunday night, figuring all is well, and ready to follow Devon's instructions to change the dressing tomorrow to ward off the infections and whatnot. All is good.
...Or is it? Dun-dun-dunnnn!
To Be Continued...
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