Posted on | April 15, 2013 | 18 Comments
**FAIR WARNING: THIS MIGHT BE GROSS**
If you don’t follow my Facebook page or my Twitter feed, you have maybe been wondering why I haven’t had anything to say in a week. You may have thought “Oh, she must be so busy” or maybe “She’s happy and has nothing to say” or more than likely “Oh hell, what’s happened now.” Let’s go with the third, shall we?
On Sunday of last week, I meal planned. J and I went to the grocery store and got all the ingredients to make a vegetarian red beans and rice with andouille eggplant. (You can find the recipe here) It sounded spicy, healthy, and best of all amazing. I got the onions, peppers and celery started and then went to add the smoked sun-dried tomatoes. I poured in the bag then realized that they needed to be diced up so I grabbed a spoon and fished out all the tomatoes to put them in a mixing bowl.
That’s when shit got real.
See, I have this Cuisinart Hand-Held blender. It has attachments, you plug it in, and it stirs, blends, dices, and whatever else you need. It’s amazing and I love it. In fact, I wore out my first one and just got a second one for Christmas. It’s a great little kitchen tool but there’s one thing you should never, ever, EVER do…. and that’s use your finger to clean out the food stuck in the bottom of the blending tool. See, that’s what I did last Sunday. And forgot to unplug the blender before hand. And apparently hit the “blend” button to start it up.
People. That moment plays back in my mind in slow motion. And in my mind, the me from the future springs into the picture and runs, in slow motion, screaming “noooooooooooooo” to slap my hand away from the device. Sadly, that did not happen. And I diced up my finger. While home alone with a three year old.
So I did what any single parent who lives less than a mile from the nearest hospital would do. I wrapped a dishcloth around my hand and told J we were headed to the ER. I’m guessing I was in shock, because I was pretty calm about the whole thing. I strapped him into the car seat then turned around and went back inside to turn off the stove. I grabbed only my wallet because I was just not thinking and we drove to the ER. It was only after we got there that I realized having my cell phone would have been helpful, you know, for calling people to come keep J. I managed to get him out of the car, and we walked in and announced that I’d blended my finger and needed stitches. It wasn’t pretty. I had to wait over an hour for any pain medication. I had to wait an hour and a half for anyone to do anything other than take my blood pressure and wrap my finger in gauze. But the Disney Channel was on and J was happily climbing onto the bed, then off of the bed… and repeat, again and again. The PA who stitched up my finger sighed the whole time, either because he was annoyed that he had to actually work or because there were just. so. many. stitches.
Three plus hours and zero tears later, I left the ER with an hour and a half worth of stitches, a prescription for two different pain killers and an antibiotic, a tetnus shot, a shot of pain killers, fifteen shots of lidocaine in the finger, and my three year old. Did I mention zero tears? Because y’all.. NO FREAKING TEARS.
I can honestly say I’ve never been quite as proud of my mothering ability as I was that day in the ER. While getting shots in my mutilated finger, I told J the story of the Three Bears. While being stitched up, we talked about what we would have for dinner now that mommy wasn’t cooking. While in the process of almost losing my finger, I kept my cool for my kid. I hate needles, have a fear of stitches, and loathe pain of any sort and y’all… I kept my cool for my kid.
When you ask him what happened, he very seriously says “Mommy hurt her finger and had to get stitches” and then he giggles and says “And she got pricked in her bottom.” He knew it was serious but he wasn’t traumatized. He knew I was in pain and had hurt myself but he wasn’t afraid.
Last Sunday, I almost lost my finger; but I gained the reality that I can TOTALLY rock this single mom gig. Even with nine fingers.