9 Mar 2015


Sundays can be a dicey affair at the best of times. I had it all worked out though - the football was about to start and it was on BT Sport. The laptop was ready and I had helped Tee with her homework and it was finished. I just needed to put the beef casserole on and before the end of the game I'd have an early dinner.

I took the Pyrex casserole dish out and somehow, don't ask me how, it cracked in my hands. I feel a pain in my finger and saw a big cut that was beyond surface wound". Then the blood came. I stood up and put the tap on to rinse it and called for Ee. She came running in due to the element of panic in my voice. "Don't come in!" I firmly but gently told Tee because of the broken glass on the floor. She started crying. 

Ee told me she wanted to look at the cut and to let go. When I let go I don't remember looking at the wound but I must have looked. If I didn't look then there is no logical reason for me passing out (I'm refusing to admit that I f*int*d - that sounds so wet). I heard Ee calling my name and I felt like I was comfortable and didn't want to wake. Then she called Tee with that element of panic I'd used and I snapped out of it. At first I didn't know which way was up and which way was down. I had a sore backside from falling on it. I had a little sit down. I was quite dizzy. I don't mind blood - even mine - but I guess I don't do open wounds very well - I'd be no good in a stabbing or shooting as the victim. 

We wrapped a tea towel around my hand and Ee drove us all to A&E. I waited two hours and forty minutes to be seen by triage and sent the girls home long before that so I could sit with the other sick people, dying people and clumsy bastards.  

It seems A&E departments are like cinemas - full of greedy sods that can't sit quietly without stuffing their faces and crinkling packets. It was a misophonic nightmare that got worse with each passing minute.

When I finally got in to see the nurse/sister I was equally happy and sad. I didn't need stitches so avoided more pain but the moment you don't get stitches you lose 75% of sympathy from people. She checked I could still bend my finger which hurt like seven bloody hells and told me "this will hurt and there will be lots of blood" - she was right. She then taped up my finger with some industrial sticker strips and a bandage and I called Ee and ponced a lift home as I felt too pathetic to walk to the train station and make my own way home like a real man.