Yesterday we learned about knives—and what they can do even when no one is actually doing much of anything with them. Ty and Leah were comparing the look and shape of various blades from our knife block. Ty was holding the meat cleaver, blade sideways, as I, in a brisk, motherly hurry, reached around him with a fork in my hand to open the silverware drawer. Pinky Knuckle met Knife Blade in a nice clean slice.
I knew it was pretty deep the moment it happened. “Are you okay? Ty wanted to know. More importantly, “Was that my fault?”
“No, it’s not your fault,” I said as I hurried off to the bathroom to check it out. Did it need stitches or not? Some of my friends would have said no. I wasn’t sure.
Long story short, I spent a beautiful sunny Sunday afternoon in the waiting room of the walk-in clinic, wondering the whole time whether I was wasting my time. And the doctor’s.
Turns out no. He gave me four stitches and explained why you can’t get stitches the next day when you’ve decided your cut might need them after all (you'll sew in the bacteria). Also why glue doesn’t work on the knuckle. And today, when I bent my finger too much, I experienced that second why first-hand.
My kids think stitches are cool, like little black spiders. Since Ty is the only one in our family now who’s never had them, we’ve decided it’s his turn next. Just not on a beautiful sunny afternoon.
(Actually, I don't wish accidents or waiting rooms on anyone.)