Never Play with Knives

Last Sunday I nearly cut off my left index finger. No kidding.

I had spent the weekend in the kitchen cooking up a storm (which also meant doing a ton of dishes as well). I like to cook double batches of my recipes and freeze them to take to work for lunch. And now I'm planning ahead for Cassie's suppers as well since I don't like her having a constant diet of frozen pizza, frozen tacos, and frozen chicken nuggets. So to combat this I'm taking over all the cooking and doing daily menu-planning for her carbs, veggies, fruit, main course, and beverage. Saturday I'd cooked up Tater Tot Casserole, two meatloaves, and browned three one-pound units of hamburger in the microwave for later use in other casseroles. Cassie and I also did a ton of laundry.

So come Sunday it was time to throw other meats into the mix. Saturday's theme was beef, and now I was going to do salmon patties and crockpot chicken so we could alternate among the beef, fish, and chicken. Plus I had to peel potatoes to make mashed potatoes and scalloped potatoes. But before doing that I had to work that afternoon at the library, so my cooking plans were set for the evening.

Before heading to work I was making Cassie's lunch. I opened the freezer to get some Tater Tot Casserole for Cassie and noticed the bag of garlic toast. I decided that sounded better than crescent rolls, and thus set into motion the bloody events.

The garlic bread was one long piece of French bread that had the garlic and cheese in the center like a hoagie sandwich. You pull apart the two sides and place them on a pan beneath the broiler. Dopey me decided they would fit on my pan better if I cut each section in half. I grabbed my scalloped bread knife and starting sawing away. Normally I use my giant chef's knife but for some reason I went with the bread knife - and I think that's what saved my finger.

The first slice cut with little difficulty. But the second slice wouldn't cooperate so I was hacking away at it and, wouldn't 'ya know it, the knife slipped (or perhaps I just got my finger in the way) and I sliced through my finger with full force.

The rest happened in slow-motion. I didn't move. I remained in position with my knifehand extended and my other hand holding the bread, just staring at my finger thinking, "This can't be good." (I have a college degree so I felt pretty confident at this assessment.) Then the blood began to ooze, ever so slightly. This encouraged me to think that perhaps the cut wasn't so bad. I stuck the wound beneath the water and, with soap, tried to clean it up. Afterall, the wound would be full of bread crumbs, cheese, and garlic - that can't be conducive to healthy healing.

I tried bending my finger to determine the depth of the wound. Yikes! It looked like a giant fish gill had opened on my finger. Bandages weren't staunching the blood flow, and I had only 30 minutes to get to work.

So I called my supervisor on his cell phone and his home phone but couldn't reach him. I called a coworker to say I thought a trip to the emergency room was in order but I'd be in whenever the ER finally got done with me. She felt that my finger would be throbbing and I'd be no use to anyone at work, so I shouldn't even try to go in to work. So I didn't.

I've spent the past week applying First Aid Cream and bandaids, and avoiding water. By golly the thing looks pretty good today. It's still sore to the touch, but bears no resemblence to the mess of last week. Must be due to the Hello Kitty bandaids that Cassie has been giving me.