Knife Safety 101: Brand-new (literally) Buck knives are VERY, VERY sharp. And when you apparently roll a critical fumble (dice roll of 1 on a D20) in real life, the result is something like this:
Non-consensual self-knife/medical/cutting/blood play.
Apparently, I ignored my safeword when I called “red” and continued well past my own hard limits. That’ll teach me to negotiate a scene properly before playing.
So how did I manage this cunning feat of skill and grace?
I was trying to open a DVD package.
Guess what DVD?
So let me back up a little. I took Hubby to the airport early Tuesday for him to fly to Snowhio to visit family.
Thursday morning, I awoke to find this in my front yard:
That WAS a 10-15′ tall oak stump. No, I don’t know when it fell over, except that it was sometime between Wednesday night and Thursday morning. It’s rotted, and no storm, so I’m guessing all the rain finished it off.
Then, of course, I treated you all yesterday to the tale of the Great Washhouse Rat War of 2015.
I lost round 3 on Thursday.
Then, yesterday (Friday) afternoon, I managed to do this to myself.
The knife (literally owned it less than 48 hours) is the kind you can flick your wrist and it opens.
The problem is, you actually have to MAINTAIN YOUR GRIP ON THE MOTHERFUCKING KNIFE. Otherwise, it summersaults out of your hand and when you’re wearing shorts (as I was) it tries to bury itself in your shin.
Fortunately, it didn’t bury itself in the top of my foot or in Gidget or one of the cats.
So as I stood there, the unopened Serenity DVD in my left hand, and staring down at my now bleeding leg, I said, “Well, fuck.” Grabbed a tissue, quickly realized that wasn’t going to do jack shit, hobbled into the kitchen (dripping blood everywhere — Hubby’s been instructed to point investigators to this blog post in the event something should ever happen to me so they don’t think he murdered me because my carpet looked like a CSI team’s nightmare) and got a dish towel on it. Looked at it again, realized nope, that’s not good, and grabbed a roll of blue painter’s tape to wrap around it to put pressure on it so I could take my hands off it. (I wanted duct tape, but there’s a long convoluted explanation about why I had a roll of blue painter’s tape in my dining room that has to do with the face plate on our window-shaker AC unit in there that’s a whole ‘nother story. And it probably was better I grabbed painter’s tape, because it didn’t stick to my skin or the towel like duct tape would have.)
That done (less than a minute passed at this point) I debated “drive, or 911?” and decided I didn’t want to pay the ambulance fee. Also, I knew that I could be at one of two ERs before they got a wagon dispatched and to my location.
The next question was which ER? The nearby hospital or the standalone? They just built a standalone ER about five minutes from us that literally opened last month (as if they already KNEW…) so there I headed. I tried calling Sir, it went to voice mail, and He texted me that He was on a conference call (I rarely call Him at work so He knows it’s important when I do). Texted back um, driving myself to ER.
(I should add that I had to call Him the day before about something else unrelated that was important, but not as urgent as this was, and He’d joked that it was okay because He knew I only called Him at work if it was important, like a car accident, or an ER trip or something. So, technically, I blame Him for jinxing me…)
There is something very humbling about explaining to someone that you sent yourself to the ER…while trying to open a DVD.
I get to the ER, they got me right in, by this time it’s barely bleeding. Sir texts me to ask how I’m feeling.
My reply: Stupid.
His reply: That’s not what I meant.
My reply: Well, that’s how I feel.
Keep in mind that last year I took Hubby to the mall for an eye exam and he ended up in an ambulance headed to the ER, where he spent the night in the hospital after fainting. So no, no way in fucking HELL was I telling Hubby what happened until I knew he wasn’t like driving or something in case he freaked out.
(I should also back up and add that I’ve had first-aid training. I was a trained rescue diver, divemaster, and assistant scuba instructor, so I’m pretty good at staying calm in an emergency. Although this is the first time in my life I’ve injured myself and required staples/stitches and sent MYSELF to the ER. LOL)
The lidocaine shots actually hurt worse than the laceration. Considering my bp was something like 160 over something, and my pulse was about 120 when I got there, I think adrenaline had something to do with that.
When I got home an hour later, I realized I’d even had the presence of mind to turn off the living room lamps before I left. LOL
Then I called Hubby. Said call went something like this.
Me: “So…hey, whatcha doin?”
Him: “We’re just sitting here watching TV and talking right now.”
Me: “So…you’re not driving or anything, right?”
Him: “What happened?”
To his credit, Hubby agreed that it probably was a good thing he wasn’t here, because he does NOT do blood well, and he likely would have fainted or gotten sick, compounding the problem (and almost certainly guaranteeing an ambulance call).
FYI, the human grade of bandage is smaller and far more expensive (with zero color options) than vet wrap from a feed/tack store. ($2 a roll versus nearly $8 a roll.)
I now have a nifty blue bandage around my leg. I’ll do it in pink tomorrow.
And here’s how long the wound actually is. Actually, it’s a little sore, but doesn’t hurt nearly as badly as I thought it would. Staples have to come out in 10 days, and yes, I got a tetanus shot.
So Round 4 of The Great Washhouse Rat War of 2015 is heating up. For those of you keeping track, the score so far is Rat: 4 – Tymber: 0. (And it moved one of the glue traps and tripped several snap traps.)
This is really pissing me off at this point.
More glue traps, more snap traps, and bait pellet trays. It’s pretty bad when I walk into the hardware store and the clerk says, “So the glue traps from yesterday didn’t work, huh?”
In case you missed it…