Near Death Experience

I too am back from the grave, almost literally. This is one of the reasons we haven't blogged in a while. In early January, I had a terrible accident. Since it was so life changing, I think it's appropriate to record even if it's not funny.

Reader's notice, the contents of this blog are graphic so you may want to stop reading now and just post a comment that says something like, "I would have ended up my life had you died," or "All the sunshine in the world would have disappeared had you left our world." Either of these comments will do.

As I reflect on how to begin my tale, I realize my memory is a little shaky. It may be because of the severe amount of blood that I lost and the ensuing loss of consciousness. I had just returned home on a Wednesday evening from a Young Women's activity. I had not eaten dinner before the activity and with the bed time hour quickly approaching, I was trying to find a quick dinner to ease my hunger pains. My dear Corbin had not yet returned from his activity with the young men so I was on my own to scavenge for food in our bereft kitchen. I finally decided on my favorite default meal, chicken salad sandwich and tomato soup.

I pause now to have my readers consider the many options for kitchen fatalities. At this point, what would you consider being some options for kitchen demise? Stovetop/oven burns, can opening, garbage disposal (one of my serious fears in life is getting my hand or Corbin's hand eaten by this nasty beast that eats garbage...what a disgusting and humiliating way to go!), knife wound, falling cookbooks, and the list could go on. Now that you've had a moment to worry about what my injury was and cause you to question ever cooking for yourself again...I'll return to my story.

I had successfully completed the preparation of my meal and had commenced eating it when Corbin returned from his activity. Since I am a wonderful wife, I immediately stopped eating my meal, and begin preparing Corbin's dinner. He went to the bathroom...ok too many details, but it's important to the story. I began to vigorously slice the crusty bread in half for Corbin's practically gourmet chicken salad sandwich when the huge, serrated knife sliced into the deep recesses of my left index finger.

Instantly I saw my life rush before my eyes; I knew we had to act fast if I was going to make it through the night. I called to Corbin that I was dying and he responded, "I'm on the toilet, can it wait?" I had no energy to fight with him on such a tactless response, so I just yelled back, "NO." Out he comes to look at my finger.

While it had only been a matter of seconds since the incident occurred, my hand was covered in blood and as everyone who knows me knows, I don't do well with blood. I managed to stagger to the toilet seat and plop down while Corbin examined my finger. It was deep. He called the hospital to determine what the next steps should be. As my head hangs between my knees, I hear Corbin ask the operator, "If the cut doesn't need stitches, will we need to pay for the visit? If so, we might just wait 'til tomorrow so we don't have to pay the emergency room fee." I will make no comment here in an effort to preserve my marriage. I WILL mention that the sandwich I had to abandon was being casually snacked on by my concerned husband while I struggled to remain conscious.

Since the operator can't make any recommendations over the phone other than, "if you're in doubt, you should come in," we decided to bypass the after hours clinic and go to our friend who's almost a doctor anyway for treatment. Matt and his wife, Malerie, are dear friends to us. This was not the first time Matt has looked at one of my maladies, like the time I had a weird rash all over my body and the other time I had humongous pustules on my feet, but I'll leave that to another blog. They lovingly opened their door to us around 10pm while Matt was studying so diligently still; he's going to be a great doctor. Matt was worried I had lost too much blood and that I wouldn't make it through the night, but he reassured me that I would be ok. He recommended stitches but I refused, so he bandaged it real good and sent me home admonishing me to at least get a tetanus shot.

I made it through the night and I did get a tetanus shot. Corbin well made up for his previous callousness by caring for my finger. I didn't look at my wound for 7 days (seriously); he cleaned it and wrapped it daily. He even washed my hair for me for a week. He was a great nurse. I've posted pictures of my wound from around day 3. I was still unable to look at my wound without getting light headed so when Corbin wanted to take a picture of my wound for posterity, I had to shield my eyes so I wouldn't accidentally see it.

My wound is now completely healed. Here's a word of advice, try to continue to use an injured finger. I didn't use mine at all for a week and when I tried to use it again, it was totally numb and I couldn't bend it. After intense physical therapy by Corbin, my finger has full mobility again. So in the end Corbin became a greater hero in my eyes and I have an awesome scar. He still hasn't replaced my sandwich, though.