I cut off my left hand. Making Caesar Salad. I thought, “If The Viking doesn’t come in the house soon I may not make it”. I try to remember what I’m supposed to do in this situation. Do I elevate the arm? Tie a tourniquet? Both? Should I put my severed hand in the fridge?
I decided on the ‘laying on the floor and raising my arm toward the ceiling option’. I should have wrapped something around the stump; liquid is susceptible to gravity. Laying there, waiting for The Viking and reflecting on my injury, I wondered if I should be trusted with sharp and pointy objects any more. I did stab myself just last week after all.
I hear The Viking slam the garage door, which means he’s heading for the house. I yell, “SCULLERY MAID DOWN!!”
The door opens. “Did you say something?” he asks mildly.
Me: Call the Paramedics!!
Continue reading “Call The Paramedics!!”
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