Slice a 6 inch long gash into your bicep, deep, almost to the bone and walk in the door pale and stuttering.
It works every time.
I mean, I’ve only tried it once, but it worked for me.
M1 dropped a 20×24 inch framed picture in her room. The frame broke and I proceeded to clean up the glass so no one would get hurt.
Instead of bringing in the garbage, I stacked the pieces up on the main biggest part and carried it out the front door like a tray.
I bumped into the door frame and didn’t feel anything. Blood was spraying, so I ran into the bathroom (spraying blood all over my living room) and held my arm over the tub shouting “BRING ME A TOWEL” because, I’m thinking, I should tie off my arm like Leo did in Charmed when his memory was erased and he came across the car accident victim and had to stop the bleeding.
Except the cold water didn’t make the blood slow down and I looked at it, like a bloody supersoaker, and I resisted the urge to grab the camera, because the kids were freaking out, I had to be calm. Bubba, take my purse to the car- use the downstairs door. E1, put the baby in the carseat in the car, slipped on my shoes, I’m going to be OK, girls. Heading for the car, honey you have your keys? Skip the stop sign.
I walk into the ER with my bloody towel. I’m stumbling, feeling faint, sure I slashed an artery or something. Oh look, there’s Maria and the new baby. “HI Maria, Can’t talk right now…”
I didn’t know what to say to the lady at the desk. “I need to sit down.” so she walky talkies for a wheelchair and rolls me toward the door inside, triage nurse peeks out her window. I flash her the laceration, no need for conversation. She walky talkies for a someone, they wheel me into the room and some lady named Lisa is asking me if she can throw my towel away while I fade in and out of consciousness.
They only asked me two questions “Did someone do this to you?” and “What were you cut with?” Wound is rewrapped, cold towel on my head, stitches are ordered, blood pressure is 55/79 I get blankets, a barf bag, an audience of interns and I lay trying to focus on thoughts of wellness, healing and breathing deeply to try not to puke.
I took some pride in that every person who saw it kind of gasped, took a deep breath and said something stupid.
They stitch me up. Husband took the baby home and happened to arrive back in while they were stitching, he turned kind of green.
Afterward, they Xrayed. Drew blood to count I don’t know what. Blood pressure came back up to normalish. Sent me home with a vicodin prescription.
I don’t know how many stitches there are. M1 took bloody house pictures, it looks like a crime scene. Blood sprayed all across the living room and all over the bathroom.
They cleaned it up while I was gone.
Now that I have lived through it, I wish I had taken 10 seconds to photograph the cut.
I hope it doesn’t hurt later.
Forgive my spelling and grammar and made up words and lack of punctuation, OK.
Lotsa crazy crud going down at the Hannigan house. Don’t miss another post,
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