On New Year’s Day I was makin’ a salad–cuttin’ up the veggies and the lettuce.
I bought a couple of Cutco knives a few years ago. They are ultra sharp and very durable. I use 'em every day and they never have dulled. And I cut myself all the time.
The dumbest thing I used to do is place the knives pointing up…handle down…in the dish rack (I don’t have a dishwasher). After poking my palm three times while reaching for the silverware, I decided, “Ok, maybe I should lay them down.”
Well, on New Year’s Day I had done a lot of dishes, and there really wasn’t room to lay the knife down, so I stood it up, handle down again. See, if I had just placed it haphazardly in the rack, it would have slid out. And if I had dried it off with a towel and placed it in the knife drawer, you’d be reading this post and saying, “I think he’s taking his mundane, pointless stuff a bit too seriously.”
I reached over to get a fork out of the silverware bin and bring my forearm down on the knife. These knives are so sharp that it takes very little pressure for them to do their job. In fact, I didn’t feel any pain. But I knew something was wrong, so I brought my hand up by my head to get a good look at my newest wound.
To stitch or not to stitch. The actual incision was only 1/3 of an inch long (I measured). But what really concerned me was how deep the knife went. Hmm, how deep did the knife go? Maybe inspecting the knife will give a clue.
I always thought it was kinda cool how knives can go in and out of skin and leave not a trace of blood. I wonder exactly what one would have to do with a knife to leave blood on it. Maybe that’s for another post. Anyway, I inspected the knife, and even though there was no blood on it, there was some residue on it. Fat? Kinda looked like it. Who knows? Anyway, according to the forensic evidence, the knife had gone a half inch into my arm. Ah, well. Better go get it looked at.
New Year’s Day night is a pretty good night to go to the emergency room. I was in the exam room about 45 minutes after I got there. This after explaining to three different people what I had done. The nurse came in to inspect it. She knocked on the door, opened it, then stood in the doorway. She looked down at the chart, then up at me, then down at the chart, then up at me. She finally said, “Stab wound, huh?”
Ha, ha. Someone up front has a sense of humor.
“Uh,” I said sheepishly, “sort of…”
She took my little band aid off (which did a great job of stopping the blood flow, believe it or not) and inspected it and decided stitches were in order. Then she chit chatted with me about all kinds of stuff. After a bit I felt something wet in my lap. Ironically, blood was the last thing I was expecting when I looked down, but there it was. It looked like someone had stabbed himself with a knife right over my lap. “Oh,” she said, “here, let me get you something for that.”
It took two whole stitches to sew up my wound. Obviously, her training was put to the test. Most difficult case they’d had all day, I’m told. They asked if they could bring in some interns to observe, but I was in a hurry.
They said the stitches could come out in a week and to make an appointment with my doctor to have them taken out. Please. I’m a guy. I don’t wait, and if I can cut myself with sharp instruments, I can surely remove a couple of stitches.
So, after four days I realized that my skin was growing and the stitches were getting kinda tight. It was my right forearm, and underneath, and I was going to only be able to use one hand, so I figured I better get them out now. There was no way I was going to wait 12 hours when I was with my friends and let them do it (there was a waiting list among them–I think I could have sold raffle tickets).
Suture thread is pretty tough so I grabbed the sharpest knife I have–the knife I cut myself with. Well, I didn’t want to use scissors because I don’t have left-handed scissors and also because I figured if I cut the knot off, the thread ends would retreat into my skin and I wouldn’t be able to grab an end and pull the thread through.
Boy, that nurse sure made some small, tiny stiches. Well, I got the knife under one of the stitches and kinda started pulling. I figured the knife would go through it like skin, but it didn’t. The thread was sort of a plastic-like material and wouldn’t cut. And my skin kept stretching and going with it, so it wasn’t working.
So, I grabbed a pair of fingernail clippers. I figured I could grab just the thread and not my skin if I used the corner and only squeezed as long as there was no pain.
Ha, ha, I’ll bet you think this story ends in disaster. Well, it doesn’t. Snip, snip, and I grabbed each knot and pulled the stitches right out.
Oh, shit, I guess four days wasn’t quite long enough. Man, I guess cuts heal from the bottom up 'cause the top sure hasn’t quite closed yet. Well, maybe it doesn’t. Maybe it all just kinda grows out. Whatever.
Liquid skin is pretty cool stuff.