Posted by: Trigger | 4 February, 2008

Blooooood. Lots of it.

Apparently I talk about blood a lot on my blog. Huh. Strange.

Anyway, my weekend was mostly normal, except for, like the title must suggest, the amount of blood I encountered. See, I was chopping onions to make the ever-so-yummy turkey taco soup for my superbowl watching friends, and I went ahead and chopped right on into my left index finger. Man, those Shun knives are SHARP!

Since I was a) feeling like an idiot for cutting myself while chopping onions, and b) not wanting to make a huge scene in front of our company, and c) a little freaked out by the amount of blood that was gushing in spurts from my finger, I chose to calmly announce to Z that “I think I just cut myself pretty badly.”

“Oh yeah?” Z says. “Let it bleed for a bit, clean things out.”

So I let it bleed for a bit, over the kitchen sink, and then, it was still bleeding, and kind of rhythmically in tune with my pulse. And then the room got reaaaaaally hot. So I announced to Z and company “It’s WAY hot in here.”

“And there’s a lot of blood in the sink.”

“And I kind of need to sit down.”

At which point, Z figured out that my cut was a bit more serious than my nonchalant initial description might have indicated. So he gets up, hustles over to where I’ve sort of propped myself up against the island in the kitchen, and then he takes one look at me and says, “Please don’t pass out, you might hurt yourself more.”

The idea of fainting hadn’t really occurred to me, but as soon as he said it, I did feel my knees begin to buckle. Power of suggestion much?

So there I sit, applying pressure to my laceration, clammy and sweaty and kind of pathetic, hand propped up above my heart, because 20 minutes later, I’m still bleeding.

And I feebly declare, “It’s only my blood that does this to me. I swear, I’m fine with everyone else’s blood.”

Which we had better hope I am, what with my medical doctor ambitions and all… (No really, I draw peoples’ blood daily, and I used to performed sheep surgery at my old job, and also I’ve collected biopsies during people surgery, and I’ve yet to pass out or have a reaction to those things…)

So that was my Superbowl experience. Man, am I a wuss or what?



  1. That…is not a pleasant superbowl experience. I’m sorry for that. 😦

  2. You are not a wuss! That sounds awful! I hate cutting myself when I’m cooking.

  3. No you’re not a wuss. Bad cuts can be dangerous! My dad cut off the tip of his thumb last year while chopping tomatoes. Just thinking about it makes me want to pass out. Now who’s the wuss?

  4. OK you are SO not a wuss because I am aquirming just reading your story! I would have probably gone to the hospital!

  5. I’m with DG – squirming. You are not a wuss. At all. That sounds horrible!

  6. You are totally not a wuss. I opened my hand up pretty good once in the kitchen of the restaurant where I waited tables – an experience quite similar to this one. And I had the same reaction. The hot, the woozy, the oh holy crap I need to sit down.

    Also, this: “Let it bleed for a bit, clean things out.”?? HELL to the no. I do not like this philosophy at all.

    ps, turkey taco soup? seriously? umm, YUMMY.


  7. Can’t find your email, so I’m responding to your comment on my blog. The boots are Banana Republic and unfortunately, no longer sold. I wanted the black ones too, cause I got those at a ridiculous discount. Like, $80 when the original price was $268!!

  8. Hi. I wish you would come back.


  9. Are you coming back at all?

  10. […] Tough Trigger. « Blooooood. Lots of it. […]

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