On my way out the door, I reached into my pocket for my keys. That wasn’t where they were. That was, however, where my pocket knife was. I always carry it there. It’s a slim line CRKT knife that feels comfortable when clipped in your pocket, all the way to the edge. It has a nifty little knob through the back of the blade that enables the wielder to open it with his thumb quickly, and most importantly, one-handed. Evidently, my key ring had grabbed that knob when I had originally pulled them from my jeans pocket. So the knife was locked open, sticking straight up out of my pocket.
I looked at my hand, because it had felt funny going into my pocket that last time. Nothing. I look down to see the knife sticking out, and then look at my hand again. And like a dam had been compromised, the blood poured from the open laceration in my thumb. I haven’t seen blood flow that freely and quickly since Joint Endeavor. And I had never seen blood flow that freely from my own body.
But there it was, puddling up on my entry hall floor, and pouring forth from the gash like a bucket. It was truly beautiful. And actually painless. I looked at it as best I could to try and determine if it was a do-it-yourself fix, or a hospital job. It looked pretty clean, but I couldn’t get it to stop bleeding long enough to tell. I wrapped it in some gauze (with Heather’s help) and taped that bastard up with bandages. They were immediately soiled.
So I sat there for a few minutes letting it sink in. I figured I could keep some bandages on it and be fine. So we left for Sears. I went in and picked up my tools and checked out. During all this walking around though, my heart was beating stronger, and that artery was open like a cheap whore in a dark alley, pumping my blood into the dark crimson gauze around my thumb. And the pain started to kick in. So we drove to the emergency room.
They stitched me up, five stitches. Unfortunately, he had failed to deaden the tip of it, so the last two stitches went through bare as a newborn baby’s ass, and I squeezed the hell out of my arm trying to resist the pain. It was pretty intense. And all the blood of course went to the hand I was squeezing with, and out of my head. They said I turned white. I didn’t faint, but they made me lie down for a while.
On the way home, I realized this: had I not sliced my thumb open on the knife, I might not have realized it was open in my pocket. Therefore, when I crouched down it would have stuck me in the gut, and I probably would have died. The point of impalement would have been in a critical area. I, therefore, consider it a blessing that I “found” the knife the way I did.
All that to say this: Here’re the pictures. I know that’s what you all want.