Ouch

So. it's been a tough week. A really tough week. And so, to cheer myself, when I came home today I began to work on a project I've been doing that I quite love. One part of this, which I started today, involves carving out part of a wood block to fit a rather large magnet. I carefully measured and scored the block, hoping to be as precise as I could. Several minutes into this, however, the scythe-shaped tool I was using slipped off of the block and plunged into the center of my left hand.
Sudden pain. Excruciating. Why did this hurt so bad? Had I severed nerves? I ran to the sink, turned on the cold water, and thrust my hand beneath. After a second or so, the icy fluid felt suddenly warm. Panic. Had I somehow injured myself beyond distinguishing warm from cold? I felt the water with my right hand, and found to my great relief that the warmth was no hallucination. Quickly grabbing a rag to dry my hand and staunch the bleeding, I sprinted upstairs to get a numbing/disinfecting spray and, after returning downstairs, covered my hand with it. Then, still in pain but slightly calmer, I filled my rag with ice and held it to my palm.
It was then that I commenced pacing. I always pace to calm myself down. But no-- I thought how, at such a generally good time of my life, I got constantly injured. There was a time I would have appreciated that. I thought of telling someone-- I knew I wouldn't be heard. I'm never heard. I thought how I was in pain, and no one else in the entire world knew or cared. I paced faster. I thought about my week, and as tears finally broke over my eyelids and rolled down my face, the phrase, "the straw that broke the camel's back" slipped deviously into my mind, haunting me. And I knew that somehow, despite all my growth, I was where I'd always been-- completely and utterly alone, even among loved ones. Through my quiet sobbing I flexed the fingers of my left hand slightly, looking to make sure they did as they were told. But even as relief flooded through me once again, I cried a little harder at the thought that I had to check at all. Pathetic, lonely and helpless. I've come so far.
Just as I was ready to begin calming myself down, the phone rang. I ran upstairs to it, picked it up. "Hello, Jacquie!" Betty. About 70 years old, she was a sweet woman with a big heart and a tendency to talk a lot. As she told me she had a cold/flu/bug/etc., I sighed to myself. My last tears had not yet fallen from my face and still I held my bleeding hand... and already I was listening to someone else's problems. It seemed ridiculous. It also characterized my life.

Now, as I was unable to find medical tape for use with gauze, I have two Band-Aids on my hand.

Life is fabulous.