Came home from work on Monday with a ton of good intentions, including preparing a fresh, healthy meal and doing some reading for an online course I am taking that is intended to help me organize ideas and become a more prolific writer. And I think Hoylier and I were gonna indulge in a little romance, too.
It was going to be a busy night.
And indeed it was busy, but none of that shit actually went down.
First thing I did after dropping my bags on the table and carelessly tossing my coat on a chair was to fire up the oven for a marinated pork loin. To the top of the pork loin I added the some fresh chopped fennel fronds (that’s the fine greenery at the top of the stalk) and into the oven it went. Then I planned to take the fennel bulb and slice it into a salad.
And I decided to use a mandolin slicer I bought a while back that I had not used yet.
Slid the bulb down the blade, nice clean slice. Slid the bulb down the blade again. And that’s when the bulb slipped.
And that’s when the fleshy part of my right thumb came off in a nice, clean slice.
Wow, ouch. Many curse words were uttered. Loudly. Ran my thumb under water, look at the wound. Damn. I could see the fat and the flesh, but luckily no bones. It was hard to see much of anything for all the blood. Hoylier found the severed part of my thumb on the cutting board. He threw it, the blood-splattered fennel bulb and the finger-eating mandolin away.
Pressure and ice didn’t stop the bleeding. I let the pork loin finish cooking and we tried to eat, but after 45 minutes the thumb was still gushing.
Shit. Another damn trip to the emergency room. I hate emergency rooms.
We tried to go to an urgent care practice over by the mall. Got there to discover their hours are 8 a.m. to 4 p.m. WTF? That’s not even normal office hours.
So we headed to the other hospital in town, not the one I went to when my blood pressure spiked last fall. We checked in and hung out in the waiting room, where the TV was set to Fox News.
Like I wasn’t in enough pain, I was forced to listen to that cockknuckle, Bill O’Reilly. (Thank you, Bloggess, for the best word EVER.)
After a couple of hours I was ready to leave, because I was pretty sure my thumb had stopped bleeding. But then they called me back and we figured we’d come this far, might as well see the doc.
As soon as we removed my homemade bandage, blood squirted out all over the examining table. Almost four hours after I sliced this hunk of flesh off my finger the wound was still spewing. Not good.
I was very grateful to have Dr. StandUpComedian on duty. If I can’t have a doctor that looks like George Clooney, I like a doctor with a sense of humor.
I told him my thumb wouldn’t stop bleeding. He told me all wounds stop bleeding…sooner or later.
I told him I didn’t want to watch while he put six stitches in my thumb, two of them through my fingernail. He said it’s was only required that one of us looks. Might as well be him.
I told him I was tempted to take a shot of tequila for the pain before we left the house. He said I should have brought enough for everyone.
Loved this guy.
He put my Humpty-Dumpty finger back together again, put this huge-assed bandage around it and sent me off with a prescription for Lortab.
It occurred to me that I ended up hacking off a portion of my thumb, effectively ending any dream I ever had of being a hand model, trying to make a fresh salad with healthy vegetables.
I never required stitches at the emergency room when I dialed for a pizza or picked up a cheeseburger from a drive-thru window.
How dangerous is this “healthy eating” craze, really?
But hey, I did lose at least an ounce or two, right?