Doctor's Orders: Banned From the Kitchen for 8-10 Days.

Let's start off with a video, shall we? Everyone loves Saturday Night Live (the old stuff, not the new garbage they have now) so here is a clip of one of my favorite cooking-related skits. The link has a higher quality video, if that's your bag. Pay attention to the clip because it will come back into play later...

 

Snap back to yesterday, and I am having a pretty super Saturday. I went grocery shopping with Jon and it didn't rain. The weather was simply beautiful, and I felt like a picnic would be a splendid idea. After all the groceries were put away, I set to making us a little lunch for the park. I put some chips in our basket with some baby carrots and almond butter. All that was left was to make some sandwiches. Now, we haven't bought sliced bread since the wedding, because we were given a bread machine. Every week we make a loaf of bread and do our best to manage from it. Sometimes we have huge slices, others our cut at an angle. To curb this, I bought what turned out to be a big piece of junk:

The Norpro 370 Bread Slicer and Guide

Naturally, I want to try to make a nice even cut for my sandwiches. I position my loaf carefully and whip out my serrated knife. I am already on thin ice with knife usage due to this incident and this incident.  I am not supposed to be using them without adult supervision, but it has been over a month since the last knife-related incident. Therefore, I was allowed to put on my big girl panties and go at it alone.

The rest is kind of graphic, so if you have a weak constitution, for the love of God, don't read on.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~Final Warning~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I go to slicing and the knife somehow the plastic bit on the guide jiggles the knife loose out of my hand. It goes flipping through the air all Free Willy style and I leap out of the way as to not disembowel myself or skewer my foot. Well, I'm no cat-woman so the knife did catch me and do some carving. The ring finger on my right hand, the hand that was holding the knife was now jagged mince meat. (Think back to SNL skit above) Y'all, there was so much blood, all I could do was scream HELP HELP HELP in increasing higher volumes. The third one finally brings Jon around the corner in a hurried, but not too panicked manner. Here's how it kind of goes down:

 Me: Oh shit! *blood sprays and runs down my arm to my elbow* help! Help! HELP!

Jon: What's up babe? Did you spill someth... OH MY GOD!!!!!!!!!!

(Borrowed drawing from Allie since I couldn't draw even before this incident & obviously can't now.)

One thing to know about Jon is that he is my hero, but blood is not something he handles too well. I'm trying to keep calm as to not add vomit to the gross things that are now festering in my jagged wound. 

Jon: What do I need to do?!?  What do I need to do?!?

Me: *as calm as one can talk after being kabobed* Babe, it's real bad, the cut is jagged. I'm going to let you look at it and you tell me if we need to go to the emergency room. Why don't you get a clean paper towel, because this one is soaked through.

Jon: Yes. *grabs paper towel and begins to sweat profusely*

Me: Okay, take a deep breath and I am gonna show you.

Jon: It's really hot in here, let me turn on the air conditioner real quick...

Me: *dizzy* Ok...

Jon: Okay, I'm ready. 

Me: *reveal*

Jon: Oh SHIT!

Me: *sigh, I know this means a trip to the emergency room*

So we call my mom for advice, she doesn't answer. We call Jon's mom for advice. She says to put an ice pack on it, and that we should probably go to the ER in case I hit a tendon something. All I can think is how massive my ER co-pay is. All Jon seems to care about it getting off the phone. His mom is being super nosy and is trying to get all the details. Finally I yell, "it's bleeding through the rag!" because Jon can't gracefully extracted himself from the phone conversation. He summarily hangs up after yelling, "Mom, I HAVE TO GO!" 

Now Jon wanted to head to the ER and all I see are giant dollar signs getting flushed down the toilet, not to mention having to wait 16 hours to be seen as I bleed to death. Houston's ER situation is awful. I suggest to Jon that we go to an urgent care center down the road, and thankfully he agrees. I was sure he was going to call an ambulance to rush me to a tier 1 trauma center any minute. 

I calmly wrap my hand in another dish towel with ice packs while my man runs about the house grabbing keys, cell phones, etc. as if I was in active labor and the baby was crowning. We get into the car and I look him square in the eye, "Babe, I'm not in labor or anything. Everything is okay so drive carefully. The urgent care center is only like 6 blocks away."

We make it to the urgent care center and are seen right away. The receptionist tries to get me to fill out paperwork and I look at her in disgusted disbelief. Jon snatches up the clipboard and suddenly forgets my birthday, our address, and phone numbers. 

We get taken back and I try to make jokes to the nurse. She doesn't laugh and gives me that "don't give me no nonsense" look... Bitch.

We have had the ice pack on for a good 20 minutes, so the blood was able to clot a little. After cleaning it out with iodine and salt water, we got a view of the damage.

It appears much worse when blood is gushing out it.

I ended up having to get three stitches. Not pleasant when they pumped needles full of numbing agent into the very tightly compartmented cells of a finger. It was painful to say the least. I felt everything and nearly lost my lunch as the doctor practiced for a knot-tying merit badge.

FU!!!!!!!!

We paid the butcher and went back home. We lost only 30 minutes of our Saturday, thank God we avoided the ER. I still wanted to go to the park, Jon said no. He had a cataclysmic migraine relapse and was down for the count. But not before we surveyed the horror that waited for us in the kitchen. We almost called CSI for the amount of blood that was splattered around the kitchen.  Don't believe me? A video tour for your viewing pleasure:

Blood was on the counter, floor, all the way up the fridge, on the appliances above the fridge, the counter above the freezer, the ceiling and the light fixture, back down the counter where I was not even close to, and on the floor.

The worst news of all, no cooking for 8-10 days until the stitches come out. I already got fussed at for cutting butter this morning. I am not happy.

Only thing I'm lacking now is a cone collar and dignity.

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