My word. It’s been a month. As if you need me to point that out, since these things are dated.
The laughable thing is that since my last post, I further self-mutilated by slicing about 1/2 an inch off my left index finger, while dividing up 30 pounds of pork butt for my dog.
A friend asked later if I screamed, and I don’t think I did. I made a kind of vocalized inhale that sounds more like “ah” than “AHHH!” and ran my finger under the tap. It hurt a lot and was bleeding a lot. I wrapped it in a paper towel and put some ice on it. A few minutes later, I walked outside and up the steps to the studio to put some of the bags of meat in the freezer up there and share my tale with Rob.
Upon seeing the wound, Rob grabbed my other hand and said, “Let’s go to the hospital.”
No, no, don’t be silly, it’s fine. Besides, I don’t think there’s anything they can do for me.
“You need stitches!”
No, no, there’s nothing to stitch. Because I actually sliced the skin off my finger. It hung from the edge of the freshly sharpened Kitchenaid knife like a morsel of raw pork. We saved it in a ziploc bag.
It continued to hurt and bleed a great deal for about 18 hours, but after that, hasn’t caused too much trouble, unless I accidentally flip a lightswitch or flush a toilet with that part of my finger. My trusted hand surgeon in Los Angeles (whom I happened to see during a brief visit) told me that I might need some kind of corrective surgery if it doesn’t heal properly, but all I can do is keep it clean and covered, but not too tight.
Ha! I told you. An emergency room visit would have been a waste of time and a spoiler of my Sunday evening.
Two weeks later, now, and it’s healing pretty well. I’m quite pleased with it. I don’t have to have it covered all the time when I’m at home and the skin regeneration is noticeable.
March 8 (1 day after injury):