While it is certainly tempting to sit back and shirk my blogging responsibilities, la la la, while Hannah meets her blog-a-day goal, feet up on what passes for a ‘desk’ in our little office nook, sipping a Lime Rickey (officially my Summer 2009 Drink of Favor), while reading all about what Hannah’s up to these days, I won’t. I feel a whelming need to participate, causing me to wonder if there’s a sneaky undercurrent to her goal– to inspire me to get on here more often, as well.
So, that said, I’d like to tell you a little cautionary tale about kitchen knives. Just because it’s an all-purpose chef knife doesn’t mean you have to use it for everything from chopping nuts to slicing, say, ripe, squoshy, mangoes for that special Thursday morning breakfast smoothie (skip the ice, add protein powder). Which is exactly what Joe did yesterday, wet hand on the slippery mango, super-sharp-super-cool chef’s knife in the other hand, prepping the mango for peeling by slashing across the green skin, only to have the knife slip off and head directly for a plump-tipped pinkie-finger. Apparently when the knife hit the finger it made a solid thunking noise as it hit the bone, I imagine like when you halve an avocado and whack the (yeah, okay, chef’s) knife decisively on the pit and twist it out of the flesh.
Now, Joe’s the type of guy who can cut himself fairly badly, and scoff at even a Band-aid, so when he came outside, (where I was peacefully watering the garden after my shower, in garden clogs and Japanese cotton kimono…), to tell me about this accident, I expected to find the finger in the freezer, waiting transport to the hospital where it would be promptly reattached! But, no, he had the injured finger wrapped in Kleenex, still attached to the hand held above his heart, and only needed me to drive him to the hospital. Oh, and to finish making the smoothies he started so we could have them on the way. And I might as well wipe up the random quarter-sized blood splotches left from the kitchen sink to our bathroom while I’m at it. No fingers waiting in the freezer, after all.
Notes from the emergency room, where we were for three-hours pre-morning coffee:
- Why do they call that smallest finger a “pinkie” anyway? (No interesting link here, but most popular answer is the Dutch word for little finger is “pink”, and I also liked a reference to baby mice called “pinkies.”)
- We both noticed the nurse asked if the injury was work-related, to which I replied, “No, it was mango-related.” A refreshing change from the usual question put to us when we visit the ER: “Was this alcohol related, by any chance?”
- Apparently, tetanus shots are only good for five years now, not ten. We remembered Joe’s last one was over five years ago, because it happened in our current house while we were playing night-time croquet, using little LED lights clipped onto the wickets. Joe was wearing shorts and had a little run-in with one of Nathan’s metal sculptures; the dragon aptly named Tetanus. Affirmative to alcohol related injury…
- It occurs to Joe that he’ll no doubt get out of requested weed-eating task assigned for after work. Almost simultaneously, he realizes that saxophone playing will be hampered. Face goes from serendipitous delight to crestfallen in 0.2 seconds.
- We’re sitting in a room that’s at the “T” of the hallway, with the door wide open, so get to watch a constant stream of doctors and patients go by. One guy looks like neither patient nor doctor, though, with a lanyard around his neck and a ball cap, with a bouncy kind of shuffle going, and a bit too happy to be a visitor. Maybe he’s the eccentric head of ER? Maybe it’s Bring Your Crazy Old Grandpa To Work Day.
- Cool Sideburn Guy comes in to cavalierly irrigate Joe’s pinkie. After he leaves Joe drops the clean white bandage onto the floor, snatching it up claiming the 5-Second Rule. I debate whether that counts in a hospital.
- We’re bored waiting for the doctor so amuse ourselves looking (not touching) various items on the shelves, my personal favorites being Tongue Blades, a mysterious purple plastic deal called a Yankauer (yank-oww-er, get it?), and the notorious Hand-held Nebulizer.
- The doctor finally arrives to glue Joe’s finger together with DermaBond (Official Wound Closer of the USA Olympics)—an alternative to stitches these days. He introduced himself on an earlier drop-by, before sending Joe off to X-ray for bone chips (eeeeeeeeeee!!!!!) but we don’t remember his name because he so reminds us of Andy we only think of him as Dr. Andy. Plus we’re lacking coffee. Looks like Andy, and acts like him; gently touching Joe’s shoulder as he bends over to look at the injured digit, laughing softly, yet genuinely at our lame attempts at humor. Afterwards, Joe is left with a clear plastic cap on the tip of his finger, and we’re free to go in desperate search of caffeine. Thanks, Dr. Andy!