I think everyone has at least one job, one career, at which they'd be uniquely un-suited. Me? I am never going to be a doctor. Like, ever. Now, I'm generally a bit squeamish when it comes to televised medical gore, especially (shudder) liposuction and anything similarly stabby and invasive and REALLY especially when I'm flipping channels and not expecting it.

(Sincerely, there is no part of my body that I hate enough to have that done to it. THAT'S WHAT THE GYM IS FOR, PEOPLE. I'm not judging because I totally understand that there are exceptions, I'm just saying. Ow. Violent. Poking.)

Anyway, though I'm not a fan of the surprise! televised surgery, I like to think I'm generally unflappable when it comes to real-life situations. I really like to think I'm one of those people who would remain calm in the face of disaster and who could handle whatever basic medical issues might arise in my life.

Aha! Not so much. See, my central nervous system is a flat out drama queen. I am a cold-sweat-blacking-out-greying-vision-nauseous-puking nightmare at the sight of my own blood. It's truly a bit embarrassing but let me tell you what happened. Proceed to incident:

On Saturday afternoon I was running around helping Kenny get the back yard cleaned up in preparation for having a few friends over and as I trotted up the (completely slippery, chipped linoleum-covered wooden) stairs into the kitchen, my flip-flopped foot slipped and I somehow managed to jab and cut the underside of my big toe against the pointy corner of the stair. I knew instantly that I'd hurt myself but I had no idea if it was bad or not. I inspected my toe and yipes, lotta blood. I was very outwardly calm and called for Kenny as I reached for a paper towel. Meanwhile, my body was rapidly working towards DEFCON 1. ALERT! WE HAVE A PUNCTURE! BLOOD EVERYWHERE! BLOOD PRESSURE DROPPING! PREPARE TO FREAK OUT!

I obediently put my head between my knees as the dizziness and nausea took over and Kenny was very kindly by my side dabbing my brow and trying to look at my toe which I protected like a hissing Golum. At some point I decided to try to head for the bathroom, as my nausea wasn't going away and I really didn't want to have Kenny hold a bucket for me like last time. (Oh, you think this is an isolated incident*? Ho ho ho! Not really, no.)

I limp-hopped my way down the hall with Kenny following and the next thing I knew I was cozied up on the floor outside the bathroom. How did that happen? I obviously don't remember fainting but apparently I did. Anyway, I made it to the bathroom all disheveled and broke out into a freakish cold sweat. Five minutes later I was totally fine and allowed my toe to be cleaned and bandaged by the World's Best Husband. I know he doesn't have much choice, considering the wilting violet he married, but the attention was very welcome. And damn, what a lot of draaaama over a cut toe! It's all entirely involuntary so I really can't do anything to fix it, but jeez I'm glad my lifelong dream isn't to be an EMT. I'd totally suck at that because who wants to be the EMT who hides in the ambulance?

*The other incident I'm referring to happened years ago when I stepped on a pretty fucking long canvas tack that Kenny accidentally left on the floor. He pulled it out and held the bucket for me. Nice of him! I also have a very clear memory of being eight years old and puking in a mall ashtray after getting my ears done at Piercing Pagoda (which I begged for, don't you know.) I have a history of puncture wound hysteria. That would be a good band name, come to think of it.

This shit is making me happy :

Hey, I haven't linked to anything in a while. Here's what I like:

The Girl Who Ate Everything
This is a food blog after my own heart. Robyn loves carbs and she's clearly a member of the clean plate club. Also: INNARDS. I love the innards, despite the impression the above entry gives.

Have you seen the breakdancing worm? I love the worm. The world stops when the worm is on TV.

2 chatty monkeys