Monday, September 20, 2010

Hand Meets Glass

I resolved this weekend to finally get my home workspace cleaned up. It was in dire need of it, too as I had let it go far too long between cleanings. As I surveyed the mess, I briefly considered employing a shovel to expedite the process, but, instead got down on my knees to tackle the mess with using my own two hands. As I began to sort through a pile of clothing, I heard a distinct crinkling sound; it was a sound I had become all to familiar with over the years: it was the sound of broken glass. By sheer, klutz-contaminated instinct, I lurched forward, losing my balance and sending me to my knees. I reached down to block my fall with my right hand, and that's when I felt it. The swift, burning pain shot through the palm of my hand and up to my elbow. I screamed loud enough for my dogs to bark wildly after me. Looking down only confirmed what I already knew: I had pierced the palm of my hand with a large shard of glass.

I'm not sure where it came from, perhaps the remnants of an old achievement certificate I had gotten from work and put up in the closet. It doesn't really matter. All that mattered was that I now had the dilema of whether or not I should remove the large glass shard from my hand, or leave it in. What could I do? I pulled it out! And, the moment I did, blood gushed all over. I grabbed a shirt from my closet and held it to my wound.

It is at this point where my tendency to get wordy with my stories has to be over-ridden. You see, 12 stitches later, my hand is killing me and typing isn't helping the matter. So, I'm going to make a long story short. I drove myself  to the hospital, got fixed up in no time, and counted myself very lucky that, when I fell, I happened to have my hand over my heart when I tried to break the fall. Had I not, the damage could have been much worse. So, it seems that Fate watches over fools, little children and people named TommyMac.

No comments:

Post a Comment