An unfortunate--but amusing--confluence of events.
So this morning I discovered there is a major artery that runs just next to the fingernail in my left index finger.
No, really.
Srsly, all I did was accidentally rip out a tiny hangnail and it looked like I performed an open-heart surgery with my bare hands.
No worries though. The blood flow was eventually staunched, the transfusion went well, and they say I might even regain use of my lower extremities if they can reverse the tissue death from blood loss.
Then, about an hour ago, my sister pulled up the hem of my t-shirt so she could see it and said, "Is that chocolate?"
(She's currently undergoing a government-sponsored experiment to study the correlation between chocolate deprivation and how quickly mental functions deteriorate to a cave-man level, self-imposed attempt at living healthier so she's a little prone to notice chocolate, or chocolate-like things.)
I looked at the brownish spots and-after remembering I hadn't eaten any chocolate today-recalled my incident earlier in the day when I was gushing blood like an extra in a Quentin Tarantino movie.
Now, you need to understand that I LOVE this shirt. It says "What Would Dean Do?" and my Neenee gave me for my birthday last year and it is epic.
So, finding blood on it naturally alarmed me.
I ran downstairs to my room like my ass had been lit on fire screaming, "NOOOOOOO! BLOOD ON DEAN IS JUST WRONG!"
. . .
Yeah.
I stopped halfway, tilted my head, looked back at my sister who was regarding me with a cocked eyebrow, and said, "That actually just came out of my mouth, didn't it?"
She nodded and I facepalmed.
I think the blood loss had a more profound effect on my mental faculties than previously assumed.
Hopefully that's not permanent either.
No, really.
Srsly, all I did was accidentally rip out a tiny hangnail and it looked like I performed an open-heart surgery with my bare hands.
No worries though. The blood flow was eventually staunched, the transfusion went well, and they say I might even regain use of my lower extremities if they can reverse the tissue death from blood loss.
Then, about an hour ago, my sister pulled up the hem of my t-shirt so she could see it and said, "Is that chocolate?"
(She's currently undergoing a government-sponsored experiment to study the correlation between chocolate deprivation and how quickly mental functions deteriorate to a cave-man level, self-imposed attempt at living healthier so she's a little prone to notice chocolate, or chocolate-like things.)
I looked at the brownish spots and-after remembering I hadn't eaten any chocolate today-recalled my incident earlier in the day when I was gushing blood like an extra in a Quentin Tarantino movie.
Now, you need to understand that I LOVE this shirt. It says "What Would Dean Do?" and my Neenee gave me for my birthday last year and it is epic.
So, finding blood on it naturally alarmed me.
I ran downstairs to my room like my ass had been lit on fire screaming, "NOOOOOOO! BLOOD ON DEAN IS JUST WRONG!"
. . .
Yeah.
I stopped halfway, tilted my head, looked back at my sister who was regarding me with a cocked eyebrow, and said, "That actually just came out of my mouth, didn't it?"
She nodded and I facepalmed.
I think the blood loss had a more profound effect on my mental faculties than previously assumed.
Hopefully that's not permanent either.