Men are brave. They use double-edge safety razors on their faces. ‘Double-edge’ means there’s no safe place to grip it, apart from the handle. ‘Safety razor’ means you had better think about your safety any time you use it.
Seeking an eco-friendly shave myself, I decided to join them.
The first few times I was deeply fearful of a potato peeler effect on my legs. Not even a nick. It’s been months, and it’s a breeze. I’ve changed the blades, too. They are paper thin and bendable. Kind of cute, really.
Today, after changing the blade, I grasped the razor by the side of the head while screwing in the handle. I remember now, thinking what a pretty shade of red that is dripping into my sink. A furtive glance at my finger indicates stitches are needed, and soon.
I fumble with bandaids, using one hand and my teeth while squeezing my injured finger so energetically, it cramps. I add more tissues, which continue to bleed through and I discover that painter’s tape is best suited to one-hand first aid. My now clubbed fist looks wrapped and ready for a boxer’s glove.
I sit on the edge of the tub, recalling R.I.C.E. ‘R’ is for ‘Rest’. I’m sitting. ‘E’ is for ‘Elevate’. I can’t. My multi-layered dressing has rendered my hand too heavy to raise to heart level. ‘C’ is for ‘Compress’. My vice-grip has that covered. ‘I’ is for….? ‘I’ must be for ‘iPhone’. Call for help. As a fainter fearing collapse and bleeding out, I reach for my cell phone. I try to press numbers as my phone and fingers exchange tremors and paralysis.
After a brief conversation with my friend who may have received the impression I had lost a digit, I decide to go to hospital. I’ll be outside, people can see me.
On the road, I take a quick look at my bandages, pleased to see only the colours white and green. Suddenly regretting my decision to drive when my consciousness is iffy, I spy a police S.U.V. set up in a speed trap. My inner emergency staff scream, “There’s help! I pull over and rush to the officer’s open driver’s side window.
“Hi, I’m hoping you can help me. I’ve cut my finger very badly.” I attempt to hoist my injury to eye level. I fail. “I’m driving myself to the hospital, but I feel woozy and I’m a fainter.” I stand before him, eyes wild.
He responds calmly, “Why don’t you go back and sit in your car, and just relax. I’ll call EMS.”
I nod once sharply, as if to say ‘Good Plan’ and return to my car. A few moments later he strolls to my window and says, “Do you want me to take a look?” While I use my knee as a lever to lift my hand, he asks, “Will it spurt?” Perhaps something in my expression had him quickly add, “You know, let’s just wait for EMS, they’ll be right here.”
An EMS S.U.V. pulls in followed immediately by an ambulance with three personnel. I glance fondly at the general whereabouts of my left ring finger.
My police officer waves off the S.U.V., surely a tad prematurely, while the EMTs invite me to join them in their ambulance. I explain. The male EMT begins the task of unwrapping my injury. I tell him I won’t be watching and twist to face the female EMT who reassures me that feeling faint is natural under the circumstances. We chat for a while, we have the time.
The male EMT, halfway through the unveiling, asks from behind me what is the exact location of the wound. I rub my fully functional right ring finger with my thumb. He returns to the unwrapping. I hear him say, “Well, it’s stopped bleeding.” I share a smile with my female EMT.
“Yep,” he continues…”I think a bandaid will do it.”
“Whaat?” I screech and then apologize all over myself. As he affixes a child-sized bandaid, my female EMT friend asks if I’d like my vitals taken.
Driving away, I observe my officer standing roadside next to a vehicle. He has nabbed a speeder. I want to flash him a thumbs-up as I pass, but worry the driver might think we are in cahoots.
A few days later an article in my local newspaper catches my eye. The headline reads, “Alarming Rise In The Misuse Of Emergency Services.”
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