Shock is good for nothing but a headache

I had a new experience this weekend.

Let me start by saying, though I’m not accident-prone, my more adventurous side has resulted in the occasional serious, but not life-threatening injury. Some accidents have been mundane, such as cutting my finger to the bone with a serrated bread knife when I was in college, and have led to my forming certain peculiar, though practical rules to live by, such as, “Never cut a bagel without your contact lenses (or glasses in place).” Other mishaps, such as being stabbed in the thigh with a sword (a freak accident that happened when I still taught fencing), impaling a foot on a four-inch rusty nail in a field while picking dandelions for wine, and cracking a hip while rollerblading sound glamorous in comparison—until I remember how painful each was.

But each time, I can honestly say, I’ve always been able to get up and shake it off, so to speak. The sight of blood, even my own, I can handle. Each incident certainly hurt, but hey, it comes with the territory of living life.

Though mundane, the bread knife incident was pretty gory. I was in a rush to get to an early morning class. I didn’t have my contacts in, and didn’t realize my finger was in the hole of the bagel I was cutting. I sliced my finger down to the bone at an angle, leaving a nasty looking piece of skin flapping. I couldn’t drive to get it stitched without bleeding all over the place, and for the first time in the six months since I’d moved into that apartment, there was no one around. So a few hours later when I finally got the bleeding to stop, I drove myself to a pharmacy and got butterflies instead.

This weekend (with my glasses on) while I was cutting apples for a pie, the knife slipped and I cut my left pinky finger fairly badly. I sliced it through the nail and side cuticle, at least a third of the way through.

Funny thing though. Despite not being injured seriously (it sounds nasty and it is, but it’s definitely not the college bread knife incident), not losing much blood, or even being overly upset at nearly amputating an eighth inch of my pinky, I promptly began to go into shock, a completely new experience for me.

There I am, going from calmly muttering a n expletive that is not fit for a family publication to applying immediate direct pressure and holding my pinky under cold running water to suddenly realizing that like it or not, the world is about to become a horizontally-oriented place very quickly and that I have a split second to make the choice of how I will meet my kitchen floor—willingly or unwillingly.

Since I had no desire to further injure what was left of the tip of my finger in a dizzy fall, I decided willingly was the way to go. Upon arrival, I immediately regretted the decision to sweep the floor to while the pie was in the oven. My kitchen floor was not fit to faint on, I decided.

Or have a fit of the cold sweats on, or toss one’s cookies on either, I also decided over the ten minutes it took to get my unwilling body in line with my entirely lucid mind.

I held my hand up against the leg of the kitchen table to make sure my hand stopped bleeding. Melchior, the cat, came over to see if I was mortally wounded. I considered calling 911, but decided it would be a lot of fuss for nothing.

The serious dizzies would pass with a little time, I was certain. I knew the way I cut my finger, stitches weren’t really feasible, and the way the nail’s sliced, if I were to receive a stitch or two, the hanging piece would have to be removed—a seriously painful prospect for an injury that will heal soon anyway. It’s a clean slice, and I got things lined back up perfectly.

The aftermath of going into shock, I discovered, is a bad headache and stomach cramps. What evolutionary use shock is, I have yet to imagine, though I did in fact contemplate that too while getting personal with the kitchen floor. It seems in fact, to work against one from a survival standpoint. How helpful would it be to faint the moment a predator say, injures your pinky? Seems pretty stupid to me.

I still can’t figure out my reaction in the face of something that wasn’t even that upsetting. I’m guessing a weeklong sinus infection contributed to my “shocking” experience.

The new life adage I’ve added from this injury? Sweep the kitchen floor before you bake. You never know when you might have to meet it up close and personal.

And shock? It’s good for nothing but a bad headache.

(Originally published in The Easton News, September 28, 2006)