To quote that great television educator, Ernie, "one of these things is not like the others, one of these things just doesn't belong."
Yep, my thumb got in the way of chopping vegetables. Just call me "all thumbs." Except, of course, I'm a little less all thumbs now.
Shock's a funny thing. At first when I sliced my thumb, it hurt like crazy. Just for a second, though. I stared at the wounded digit, saw there was inexplicably no blood. Huh. Weird. Then blood started spraying everywhere, a delayed action.
My shock was delayed as well. At first I started giggling. See what I mean about shock being a funny thing? Then crazed panic set in. I wrapped tissue after tissue around my spurting thumb, couldn't quite stem the blood flow. As I debated back and forth about driving myself to the ER (my wife was working late)...
"Stuart, you better go."
"Nah, shut up, Stu, it's just a minor flesh scrape."
"I mean it, you might need stitches, Stuart!"
"Give it a rest, Stu! Do I tell you how to live your life?"
Near hysteria, I thought of the old Saturday Night Live skit with Dan Ackroyd dressed as Julia Child when he cut his finger and arterial blood spattered everywhere. Monty Python and the Holy Grail played out in my mind: "It's just a flesh wound" said the armless and legless knight.
Finally, I let reason guide me. I swathed many bandages around my thumb and finished making my turkey-loaf.
And, lo, it was good.
When my wife came home, she sighed, and said, "Please clean your blood up off the floor." Like it was an every-day occurrence or something.
Speaking of blood, a fair amount of it gets splashed around in my historical tale of horror and hauntings, Ghosts of Gannaway. Loosely based on the events in Picher, Oklahoma, this sucker was a monster to write, but I'm proud of the results. Read it already!