We had been married for about 8 months. I clearly remember it being March. Caleb was working about 30 minutes away from our tiny apartment. His work schedule kept him from home until 8-10 pm. I don't actually remember the exact time he came home at this particular time in out lives, but it was late.
As a new wife with several hours on my hands, I was determined to cook meals for us to eat together. I had planned a yummy dinner of chicken Marsala, mashed potatoes, and green beans. Things were going well until I noticed I missed a "bad" spot on a potato. For a brief second I thought, I will just pop that part out.
The thought turned into a reality and then a regret.
I got that bad part off the potato, but I also popped that small knife right into the palm of my hand.
Immediately blood began squirting out of my hand. Not a trickle, not a few droplets, but squirt with range that would have put the ketchup squirting blood in bad movies to shame.
Between the stream of blood shooting out of my hand and the throbbing pain now moving up my arm, I panicked. I was alone, bleeding, and in pain.
I called Caleb and calmly explained the situation to him and by calmly I mean I yelled something to the effect of, "there is blood squirting out of my hand, it won't stop, where are you, what do I do!?!" without taking a breath.
Caleb did what any good husband would do, said he was on his way and try to get it to stop bleeding. After calling every person we know with in a 15 mile radius of our apartment and getting no one to answer, he made a judgement call. He called that non-emergency 911 number.
He called me back to inform me that help was on its way and he was also on his way. I was still bleeding, but it was under control. However, I was now panicking because he had called the non-emergency number and I was so embarrassed.
Within minutes, an ambulance, police officer, fire truck, and, I kid you not, a member of the national guard showed up in our parking lot. I debated about not answering the door, but decided that might make things worse.
I embarrassingly answered the door with a blood stained rag wrapped around my hand, silently cursing my husband and my own stupidity under my breath.
The ambulance worker was very sweet. She quickly wrapped my hand tightly and instructed me I would need several stitches. She encouraged me to keep it elevated and offered an ambulance ride to the closest hospital. I refused stating my husband would be home any minute and that they could go on and help someone with an actual issue. She said they would wait with me until he arrived in the case the bleeding didn't stop and so I wouldn't have to wait alone.
Caleb arrived shortly and made his way through the sea of people that had come out of their apartments and gathered to get the scoop on the train wreck in apartment 117.
Caleb promised the sweet medic he would drive me to the ER immediately. The nice lady really takes accidental self-inflicted hand wounds needing a handful of stitches seriously. It took several promises before they decided we were actually going to the ER.
You would think the story ends there, but we are just warming up.
Upon arriving at the ER, we quickly checked in and began what we were sure to be the longest wait ever. Within a few minutes a nurse calling back patients announced, "you are bleeding, come with me over the crowd of Spanish-speaking mothers and crying kids." Hearing the urgent tone in his voice we quickly walked with him. As I lowered my head with sheer terror. This much embarrassment in one night, it can't be happening.
He re wrapped my hand while asking who had done such a fine job wrapping it before we got there. I rolled my eyes and briefly mumbled a very condensed version of the above story.
He instructed me to wait in the waiting area with my hand elevated while he tried to get me back a little quicker.
He did and I was told I would need 3 stitches. The Dr. shared the unfortunate news that, while this will require 3 stitches and is a very simple procedure, due to the location of the wound and the multiple nerve endings he will really have to load up on the anesthesia in order for me to not feel anything.
He injected my hand with a shot and instructed me to lie back while he put in the stitches. I don't remember much of the next few moments.
I do remember hearing Caleb say, "Uhm is she ok?" The Dr replied something to the effect of yes its the anesthesia.
Immediately I remember waking up, sitting straight up in the chair, and vomiting all over myself. I felt much better despite the gimp hand and vomit covering my entire person.
Now it is important you know I was in the room with three males: the Dr., my husband, and the male nurse. Two of the three were starring at me with disgust while the third was sewing my flesh back together.
The Dr. finally said, "could one of you help her clean up?" At which several paper towels were tossed into my lap and a Sprite.
I wish I made this up.
Caleb eventually helped me get myself together, the Dr finished up, and we were sent on our way.
My hand was fine except for the inconvenience it caused for a week or so.
However, I learned a few lessons that night. One being that Caleb was in this forever, if he could stand by his new wife and endure the aforementioned events then he was a keeper. Two being while my husband may not be Dr or nurse material, he loves me more than I can even fathom, enough to call a slew of emergency workers to ensure my safety. Three we were embarking on a lifetime of anything but boring.
7 years later all of these things remain true. We have endured many life moments together without either one jumping ship, Caleb still loves me with all of his being, the fullness of his lack of Dr or nursing ability has been made even more evident, and it has been a wonderful, crazy, anything but boring ride.
We have a look we have now deemed the 'Really, did that just happen, where is the candid camera look'. We use it often and immediately smile knowing without saying we wouldn't want to do this crazy life with anyone else or any other way.
By the way, Caleb took me out to dinner that night after taking me home to clean up first. While I was showering and changing, I heard him cleaning up the kitchen. I heard him repeatedly saying, "How in the world did blood get way up here" and "it looks like a crime scene in here".
When I say squirting, I mean squirting!
[picture not from actual night, but close.]
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