WARNING: GRAPHIC PHOTOS BELOW

I stopped screaming when I was 9 or 10 years old. No one came to save when I was 3, 4, 5 years old. They still didn’t when I was 8, 9, 10 years old. So, I internalized my screams and pain and stopped asking for help. I have wailed once since then on the day I nearly lost my eye, but I did not scream. Monday was different.

Monday, December 9, 2024, was like any other day. I got up, made tea for Paul and I, fed the cats, and read the news.

I had a bit of free time, so I decided to slice some cucumbers. I have a new mandoline, which I got for slicing raw cucumbers. The way this slicer works, you have to cut the cucumber in half, then attach the cucumber half to a handle and slice away. I did the first half of cucumber fine. After attaching the second half, I made a few passes and the cucumber slipped off the handle. I didn’t have time to stop my hand, which was already in motion.

The pain took a few milliseconds to reach my brain. The screams were visceral. I wanted to yell, “help,” but only painful screams came out. I immediately ran my finger under water. I don’t know how long I was screaming when Mikhail, my friend and boarder, came running out of his room and said, “oh my god, what happened?”

I wanted to say, “I’m a fucking idiot for thinking I could use this damn machine with slicing my fingers off,” but I only uttered basic words. I said something like “sliced pinkie.” I honestly thought it was just the one finger at that moment.

We put a wet paper towel around my finger. It was quickly covered in blood. I grabbed another one and combined my screams with variations of the word fuck. Sometimes, it was short and to the point. Sometimes, it was low and long. The pitch and tone changed depending on the preceding scream.

Mikhail asked where the bandages were. Again, it was difficult to speak. I wanted to say, “The square red box with snowflakes on it is at the bottom of the stairs on the bookcase.” I instead said something like “bottom of stairs, tin snowflake, on bookcase.”

Mikhail brought up the red and silver tins. Both have snowflakes on them.

“Which one?” he said. I pointed to the red one. He yanked off the lid and began grabbing what was needed. We tried Bacitracin, but there was so much blood, it fell right off. A square piece of gauze, quickly filled with blood. He grabbed another.

I held that gauze as tight as I could. Mikhail got a roll of gauze and started wrapping my finger. Large drops of blood fell to the floor. At this point, Paul came into the kitchen. He hadn’t heard me screaming and had been getting ready for work. The master bedroom is far enough away that if the door is shit, you cannot hear a thing.

“What happened?” Paul asked. I was hyper-focused on the blood.

“I cut my finger,” I said.

“I think this other finger is cut, too,” Mikhail said. My left ring and pinkie fingers had been sliced. The large drops of blood were from my ring finger.

“Do you need to go to the hospital?” Paul asked.

“I need to go to the hospital,” I said.

“I can take her,” Mikhail said. He continued to wrap my hand. “We need to put her finger on ice.”

You can barely see my finger bit under the ice, at about five o’clock.

A good chunk of my pinkie was gone. It was resting on top of a slice of cucumber. Paul and Mikhail took me to the hospital. By this point in time, I was rocking in pain. I didn’t want to scream anymore and the rocking helped so I didn’t cry.

The ER worker saw me walking toward her with my bloodied and bandaged hand and ushered me into the back. When I told her that part of my finger was on ice in the cup, she said, “Oh, I didn’t need to know that.”

Paul and Mikhail went back into the ER with me. Talking helped distract me from the pain. I have no idea what I rambled on about, but it helped me to stop rocking.

An ER nurse took my bandages off and placed a warm, moist bandage on my pinkie. Blood continued to flow down my hand from both fingers. My wedding ring darkened from rose gold to blood red. The nurse changed the bandage twice before the doctor arrived.

Finally, I had something to numb the pain. The needle hurt, but worked well. The doctor did a good job. She took the piece of my finger and said it would be great protection for the wound, but it might not be savable in the long run. I received seven stitches.

Next, the doctor cauterized my ring finger. It hurt like hell, but I refused to scream. Both fingers were bandaged. I was instructed to change the bandages after 48 hours. I also received a tetanus shot as a precautionary measure. The only meds prescribed were alternating Tylenol and Ibuprofen. I also need to limit my movement. Even something as simple as walking 30 feet to the kitchen to make tea causes pain. Thus, this post was written with only my right hand on the keyboard.

When I told my nephew, David, what happened, his response was “Mmmmm, Christmas cucumbers,” with a puking emoji.

So, you might be wondering why I didn’t just use a knife to cut my raw vegetables. Well, it’s something I don’t talk about publicly. Holding cucumbers and carrots trigger flashbacks. I was trying to figure out a way to be able to cut and eat food I like without having to ask for help. My friends Conner, Kim, and Mikhail said they will cut them for me from now on. Kim has already done so for about three years now. Conner added, “especially if it means you keep your fingers.”

Inspectors Aeryn, left, and Londo, check on Dr. Webb’s patch up job on me.

For now, I’m trying to take it easy, but it sucks. I am left-handed. Everything is harder right now. The stitches come out in 10 days. I’ll know the full extent of the damage then. I dread the inevitable hospital bill. I suspect it will be $3,000-5,000. If I had been able to stop the bleeding on my own, I never would have went.

But that’s not the end of the story. On Wednesday morning, I attempted to change the bandage, which was stuck to my finger with dried blood. Soak it in water, I thought. As I sat on the floor cross-legged and with my hand in a bowl of tepid water, disaster struck. Paul’s lunch bag was not zipped. As he picked it up off the counter, everything flew out. Aeryn, who was on the counter, freaked out. She jumped off the counter and onto my head.

Remnants of blood on the side of my face.

I felt four sets of paws sink into my skull. She kept moving and I felt my ears being slashed. Blood flowed down the left side of my face. Her back paws slid down and into the back of my neck. As she continued flinging herself away from the counter, one set of paws dug into my left leg.

The top cut goes deep into my skull, but my hair masks it.

I started crying. When the shock of what had just happened wore off, I looked at my fingers. Fresh blood had appeared. Fuck. A return trip to the hospital was necessary to assess the damage.

Monday Injuries to my hand. Part of Wednesday injuries on my leg.

Everything is healing fine. No permanent damage done. My pinkie finger is to be left to the open air to heal. My ring finger was re-bandaged with a special gauze and a sock gauze so it doesn’t stick again. I can remove it in 48 hours.

Aeryn came to take a cat nap on my lap. I just noticed I never turned my clock back an hour. Who could ever be upset at such a cute little kitty?

I hope this is the end of my ordeal, but my aunt has reminded me things like these happen in threes, so…..