It’s late on a Tuesday night. You’ve just trekked home from campus in this single digit weather, and since you’re too lazy to cook like an ~adult~ you decide it’s going to be eggs for the fourth night in a row (#diningonadime). You have that avocado that’s going to go bad if you don’t use it, so you dice it up and throw it atop your sunny-side up eggs with a little melted cheese. But wait—remember two weeks ago when you spent $40 at Whole Foods when they had the National Cheese Lover’s Day sale? You bought those bougie sun-dried tomato slivers because a.) you had just watched an episode of Barefoot Contessa on Netflix (Why? You wanted to take a nap but couldn’t fall asleep, OK?) and b.) there’s really no other reason. So, remembering you have them, you decide they’d be a great addition to your eggs. (They add a WHOLE new layer of flavor, I swear!). While quickly looking for something to chop them up with—remember, your eggs are about to burn because you don’t have any timing skills—you grab the first thing you see: a small purple serrated knife and figure it will do. You proceed to chop said sun-dried tomatoes swiftly, wondering if the age difference between you and Anthony Bourdain would really be THAT big of a deal, when you find yourself really sawing away at this one sun-dried tomato because this knife is shitty and you’re in a rush and Beyoncé’s “Formation” is playing in the background and then you feel a pinch on the finger that was holding the sun-dried tomato in place and realize you’ve just cut a giant gash in your index finger. Oops.
Don’t freak out. Put down the knife and assess the damage. Oh, the blood gushing out of your skin is obscuring the actual cut? You can freak out now. Try not to pass out and call for one of your housemates. If you’re stuck, a simple, “uhhhh…GUyssss?!” in your “There’s a fire!” voice will do the trick.
Your pre-med housemate will direct you to the sink where she’ll tell you to run it under cold water. Your non-pre-med housemate will hover over your other side and ask the pre-med housemate if she’s sure that’s what you’re suppose to do, because it doesn’t look like it’s helping.
Since the cold water kind of stings and you can’t bear the sight of your flesh flapping open, you dry it off, rap a ton of paper towels around it and curse yourself for buying the cheap, least absorbent paper towels on sale at Market Basket last week. You secure the makeshift band-aid with medical tape that your pre-med housemate pulled out of a draw in the bathroom (thank god someone has their shit together), and you hold your finger up high to get the blood to drain from your arm. You’re non-pre-med housemate finds this site really freakin’ hysterical and calls on you as if you had your hand raised in a classroom. You say that’s not funny.
While your pre-med housemate checks WebMD to see if you need stitches, you call your mom. You must get through five minutes of the financial *spending habits*questioning. Once it’s over, you tell her that no, that’s not why you’re calling, but there is a lot of blood coming out of your finger. You ask if you should go to the hospital, and she says she really doesn’t know because she’s not there to see it and can you send her a picture? Before you can do this, she says it’s probably fine, she’s cut herself cooking a bunch of times, and don’t you remember that one Easter when she was carving the leg of lamb and she cut her finger and didn’t go to the hospital because she had 25 guests over at the house? You consider this for a moment, and remember how bad it actually was and tell her that she probably, most definitely should have gotten stitches then. She wavers, and “guesses you’re right about that.” You realize this phone call didn’t help at all. You’re hand is still raised above your head.
Since it’s now 8 p.m., Tufts Health Services is closed, but you dial them anyway and speak with the nurse on-call. You get put on hold for what seems like an eternity, and once she answers, she takes down your name, number, life story, etc. You’re getting antsy here, lady. When you’re finally done with the ~introductions~ if you will, you’re all ready to ask what you should DO because this is GROSS and PAINFUL, but first things first, she must ask you a “survey” question. “What would you do if you didn’t have access to this hotline right now?” she asks. WHAT WOULD I DO. HMM.. I’D PROBABLY GOOGLE IT, LADY. YEP, GOOGLE IT. MY FINAL ANSWER. Can we get this show on the road now, please? Based on her assessment, she says you should probably get stitches.
You mull this idea over in your head for a few minutes, because you’re really squeamish and don’t want stitches. You take a taste of your sad eggs that are still on the stove. You look up Urgent Care centers around Medford, and find one that’s open until 9. It’s now 8:40 p.m. You don’t do well under pressure. But then you realize that the blood is coming through the wad of paper towel and this is not good. Google maps pinpoints the Urgent Care—it’s only six minutes away.
Your pre-med housemate offers to drive you there, but asks if she can change out of her sweatpants because they have a gaping hole in the crotch. You tell her to just keep her coat on to cover it because we’re on the clock here (you’re super grateful for her driving you though).
Miraculously, you arrive in time and a nice British nurse cleans your finger out and says you’re a perfect “candidate” for Derma Bond. When you ask what that is, you find out that it’s essentially SUPER GLUE that will hold your skin together. You try not to pass out again.
The procedure doesn’t take very long, nor is it super painful. Your housemate takes a bunch of gross pictures, for the Snap Story of course. You have to sign a bunch of papers saying that no, you didn’t do this on purpose, and no, you won’t sue, and “Oh, here’s a pamphlet we’re required to give out,” the British nurse says. It’s titled, “Beyond Hangovers: Understanding Alcohol’s Impact on Your Health.” Unsure of how to respond to this, you say an awkward thank you, and attempting to be complimentary, you say, “Great work back there” and immediately regret it. (Why did you just try to compliment a nurse??)
Finally, you arrive back at home, clean off the pan you made your eggs in, and try not to get your finger wet for at least 10 days.