Yeesh
Last night got real interesting around 10:00 p.m. I was working on cleaning out the sink and came across a rather stubborn butter knife that had gone through the dishwasher at least twice and still had a clump of--I assume--peanutbutter baked onto one side. So I figure I'll wipe it off and toss it in to the dish washer with the next batch of dishes. Well, this butter knife fought back. It slipped in my hand and cut surprisingly cleanly into my right index finger. The cut was about 1/4-3/8" deep and, oddly enough, wasn't bleeding much at all (though I was rather intently holding holding it closed after rinsing it out).
Shortly thereafter, I contemplate the necessity of stitches and whether or not this warrants a trip to the hospital since the health center is, rather inconveniently, not open at 10:00 p.m. on Saturdays. So I call out to Matt a few times; he is sitting in the living room watching tv and listening to his ipod (yes, both; no, I don't get it either). After a few attempts, I feel i'm getting a bit weaker, and the next thing I notice is I'm leaning heavily against the wall and Matt's right next to me asking what's wrong. I find it odd that I sort of passed out. I'm really not that squeamish about my own blood, but I think in the intensity of the moment I actually forgot to continue breathing. And once again I find out how people really don't believe you when you snap out of it and try to convince them that no, really, you're fine now. Go figure.
It turns out it's actually somewhat convenient to have a roommate who regularly has to reassemble himself. Matt fetched his first aid kit and helped me get my wound cleaned up and dressed. And all the time I'm still surprised at how little blood there was considering how deep the cut was. I'm not exaggerating the depth--it was deep enough to be dark inside from shadow (and I didn't especially want to stretch it open just so I could get a good look).
So after I get all bandaged up, I decide the knife can stay in the fucking sink and retire to my room for a bit of Vampire: The Masquerade... played with my middle finger manning the left mouse button.
Shortly thereafter, I contemplate the necessity of stitches and whether or not this warrants a trip to the hospital since the health center is, rather inconveniently, not open at 10:00 p.m. on Saturdays. So I call out to Matt a few times; he is sitting in the living room watching tv and listening to his ipod (yes, both; no, I don't get it either). After a few attempts, I feel i'm getting a bit weaker, and the next thing I notice is I'm leaning heavily against the wall and Matt's right next to me asking what's wrong. I find it odd that I sort of passed out. I'm really not that squeamish about my own blood, but I think in the intensity of the moment I actually forgot to continue breathing. And once again I find out how people really don't believe you when you snap out of it and try to convince them that no, really, you're fine now. Go figure.
It turns out it's actually somewhat convenient to have a roommate who regularly has to reassemble himself. Matt fetched his first aid kit and helped me get my wound cleaned up and dressed. And all the time I'm still surprised at how little blood there was considering how deep the cut was. I'm not exaggerating the depth--it was deep enough to be dark inside from shadow (and I didn't especially want to stretch it open just so I could get a good look).
So after I get all bandaged up, I decide the knife can stay in the fucking sink and retire to my room for a bit of Vampire: The Masquerade... played with my middle finger manning the left mouse button.