Friday, December 9, 2016

I feel it in my finger

I have low pain tolerance and a wild imagination. Also, a little bit of paranoia.

I cut my left thumb while mincing garlic today. I was alone at home. The wound was deep, and the blood spurted out like runny tomato sauce and quickly turned my entire hand a wet bright red.

I almost sucked my thumb, the way I would have when I was younger, but the blood was just too much, and my vegetarian brain found the thought repulsive (makes no sense, I know!). I applied pressure on the wound, but the blood just kept coming, the thick droplets now coloring the sink.

I ran to my room in panic and fumbled around the dresser for a cotton pad and adhesive bandages with my one good hand. Then I went to the bathroom for the bottle of iodine I knew was there, somewhere.

All the while, my brain was racing with thoughts of survival: pressure on the wound, raise your hand higher than your heart, keep your heart rate normal, oh god I hope I don't need stitches, please clot please clot or what a way to find out I'm diabetic, wasn't superglue invented to close wounds during World War 2, do I need anti-tetanus shots, wash it well, am I going to die, gangrene gangrene gangrene --

Then suddenly, loud and clear, I heard my little sister Kai's voice from when we were cooking together one New Year's Eve years ago and I had also cut a finger and was freaking out a little: "Ano ba! Malayo sa bituka yan!" That's far from the intestines, far from being life-threatening.

Weird -- but it's beginning to feel a lot like Christmas now.