So I really want to tell you all about the crazy re-structuring the higher-uppity-ups have done at my law firm firm and the dramatic quarter Tony has had at school and our fabulous holiday fun and how my little sister got engaged!!
But instead I'm going to tell you about my thumb.
Specifically I am going to tell you about how I recently sliced open my thumb and nearly bled to death. They say your life flashes before your eyes before you die but actually, it doesn't. No, mostly you just think about how you really, really, really do not want to get stitches because, it turns out, you are afraid of getting stitches. And this is weird because you've had stitches multiple times before but I guess since you were asleep it isn't really the same and then you remember your best friend "tore" when she was "having" her "baby" and had to have her you-know-what "stitched up" afterwards while she was "awake" and "holding" her "daughter" for the "first" time and good graham crackers how is any woman supposed to survive that and you never really thought about it as a "real" thing until just now and it makes you start to cry so your husband gives you some wine!
What were we talking about?
Oh yes, my thumb. Anyway, I sliced it open and it was bleeding all over my kitchen. But luckily my Hubsalmost-a-doctor was on hand to save the day. He deftly wrapped it in paper towels and kept pressure on it for 30 freaking minutes, after which time it did not seem to be bleeding any less than it had initially and I may have had a minor meltdown when he uttered the word "stitches" (see above). So.
After the wine, which he said would be very bad for my physical-clotting but probably important for my emotional-clotting, he promised me that I would not have to get stitches. If absolutely necessarily, he would super-glue the sucker shut. Super-glue? Yes, super-glue. And to prove his point he whipped a tube of glue right out of his doctor bag! His real-live, medical-school-mandated, doctor-in-training kit! I just thought you should know what the physicians of today are teaching the physicians of tomorrow and should maybe somebody look into whether this is some sort of joke that will come back to bite us in the colon-cover?
Annnnnnnyway, the Hubsalmostadoctor agreed to give me 24 hours to start "clotting on my own" before he super-glued me up. Now that sounded so officially doctory and, let it known, this was the first time he had ever done anything very doctor-ish to me (unless you count the eighty-six thousand rehearsal practicals I have had to play patient for before exams, which I don't because he spoke everything he was doing while he was doing it so that the next day the examiners would know that he knew what he was talking about and pul-eeease, no real doctor does that during physical exams). Well I got all swoony and fell all in love with him again. So I batted my eyes at him and I asked him what I should do if I started bleeding all profusely again. And he said he would be there to take care of me, and that made me feel SO delightfully twitterpated!! And then I asked him what if I started bleeding in the middle of the night and just slipped into unconsciousness and died?? Because, you see, I just knew that my Manly Hubshero would decide that there was nothing for it but to sit nobly by my bedside all night long and protect me from the conniving clutches of Death! Oh!!
But instead he said, "Lindsey. Every month you bleed for seven days straight and don't die; this will not kill you." So.
And that is the story of how I nearly bled to death through my thumb.
But instead I'm going to tell you about my thumb.
Specifically I am going to tell you about how I recently sliced open my thumb and nearly bled to death. They say your life flashes before your eyes before you die but actually, it doesn't. No, mostly you just think about how you really, really, really do not want to get stitches because, it turns out, you are afraid of getting stitches. And this is weird because you've had stitches multiple times before but I guess since you were asleep it isn't really the same and then you remember your best friend "tore" when she was "having" her "baby" and had to have her you-know-what "stitched up" afterwards while she was "awake" and "holding" her "daughter" for the "first" time and good graham crackers how is any woman supposed to survive that and you never really thought about it as a "real" thing until just now and it makes you start to cry so your husband gives you some wine!What were we talking about?
Oh yes, my thumb. Anyway, I sliced it open and it was bleeding all over my kitchen. But luckily my Hubsalmost-a-doctor was on hand to save the day. He deftly wrapped it in paper towels and kept pressure on it for 30 freaking minutes, after which time it did not seem to be bleeding any less than it had initially and I may have had a minor meltdown when he uttered the word "stitches" (see above). So.
After the wine, which he said would be very bad for my physical-clotting but probably important for my emotional-clotting, he promised me that I would not have to get stitches. If absolutely necessarily, he would super-glue the sucker shut. Super-glue? Yes, super-glue. And to prove his point he whipped a tube of glue right out of his doctor bag! His real-live, medical-school-mandated, doctor-in-training kit! I just thought you should know what the physicians of today are teaching the physicians of tomorrow and should maybe somebody look into whether this is some sort of joke that will come back to bite us in the colon-cover?
Annnnnnnyway, the Hubsalmostadoctor agreed to give me 24 hours to start "clotting on my own" before he super-glued me up. Now that sounded so officially doctory and, let it known, this was the first time he had ever done anything very doctor-ish to me (unless you count the eighty-six thousand rehearsal practicals I have had to play patient for before exams, which I don't because he spoke everything he was doing while he was doing it so that the next day the examiners would know that he knew what he was talking about and pul-eeease, no real doctor does that during physical exams). Well I got all swoony and fell all in love with him again. So I batted my eyes at him and I asked him what I should do if I started bleeding all profusely again. And he said he would be there to take care of me, and that made me feel SO delightfully twitterpated!! And then I asked him what if I started bleeding in the middle of the night and just slipped into unconsciousness and died?? Because, you see, I just knew that my Manly Hubshero would decide that there was nothing for it but to sit nobly by my bedside all night long and protect me from the conniving clutches of Death! Oh!!
But instead he said, "Lindsey. Every month you bleed for seven days straight and don't die; this will not kill you." So.
And that is the story of how I nearly bled to death through my thumb.
