Fool me twice...

Shame on me! Last night I got to watch the opening ceremonies of the Olympics from the comfort of my very own bed in the Emergency Room at Sky Lakes Medical Center. This latest incident marks reason #3,296 why I am once again thankful that my mother did not name me "Grace."

For Christmas this year my husband bought me an impressive set of new knives. They are VERY sharp, and I love them. Along with these knives (perhaps because he has witnessed first hand about 2,312 of the aforementioned reasons) he bought this wonderful Kevlar cut resistant glove for me to wear when I am working with my new knives.




Unfortunately, last night I was not wearing my glove. Hence...




Ironically, as I was preparing to remove the seed from an avocado, by holding the halved avocado in my left hand and attempting to stab the seed with the tip of my knife, I was thinking about how the last time I had prepared this meal (homemade salsa and tri-tip burritos) I had nearly removed the tip of my finger with the very same knife, performing the very same maneuver. I was also congratulating myself on my awareness of my historic mistake, and was even glad that I wasn't going to do that again...

A fraction of a second later history repeated itself. C was watching as I held my finger and jumping up and down announced (more than once), "I did it again! I did it again!" There was a lot of blood, but I quickly composed myself enough to examine my injury. Johan, C, and I all concurred that it was indeed worse than last time. Johan took over kitchen duties and C did a google search for me to determine if stitches were necessary. They were...and a tetanus shot... So, off to the ER. Two and a half hours, and eight stitches later I returned home.

My little boy was so sweet though. His concern was so genuine and heartfelt. As we were debating whether to wait for Damian, Johan's cousin who was on his way into town, to arrive so that Johan could accompany me to the hospital, C expressed so much concern, "I really think Papa should take you Mama." And, "You shouldn't go alone." Of course, he wanted to come too. I think the fact that bed time was near and could be postponed and that another opportunity to peer inside that big cut could present itself at the hospital was rather appealing for him.

At last I went alone, Damian had missed a turn, and was enjoying an extended tour of southern Oregon. His drive from Medford which should take about an hour and a half took over four hours!