Just last night I was sat in this very spot trying to think of something funny to write about. I tried and tried, but my poor brain just wasn’t feeling it. Instead, I answered one of those survey thingies I’m so fond of. And that’s fine, because I definitely have a doozy of a story today.
Now I should start by saying that Thanksgiving Mindays are nothing new. Ever since I took up cooking for Turkey Day, I’ve walked away with battle scars. One year, I burnt my left thumb, and just a month later, at Christmas, I burnt my right in the exact same spot. And then there was Thanksgiving with the Murphys.
So, as you can see, I probably shouldn’t be allowed anywhere near a kitchen.
This year, I had lucked out. I wouldn’t be cooking the entire feast. Instead, I was only responsible for two things: mashed potatoes and sweet potatoes. Easy, right?
If you’re anyone but Mindy.
I started with the sweet potatoes. With the exception of having selecting four massively huge sweet potatoes, which meant I would have to boil them in two batches, they were easy-peasy, bacon-cheesy. I did scald myself slightly on the water as I was removing a chunk of sweet potato, and I did think of Thanksgiving with the Murphys, wondering if that would be the worst of my drama.
I really think I jinxed myself.
Not even 10 minutes had passed, and I had set up a new pot of water so I could boil the potatoes. As the water warmed, I grabbed my brand new Oxo veggie peeler and a small potato.
And two seconds later, I gasped in pain. I had mistaken my right ring finger for the potato and now had a diagonal gash across the top, through the fingernail.
Oh crap, oh crap, oh crap, oh crap. <— Standard Mindy reaction to blood, especially her own.
Alexis, who was sat on the floor eating lunch, immediately looked up to see me wrapping my finger in a kitchen towel. She didn’t learn what was going on until a few seconds later, when I called her mom and asked, “How do you know if you need to get stitches?”
I have since learned that, if you need to ask that question, you either need stitches or you don’t need them. Yes, I know that makes no sense, but I had to share a little of what I dealt with today.
Brandy called Allen, who came right over to look at my finger. His first thought: I needed stitches. His second: let’s try wrapping it up. So, with a large chunk of gauze and a lot of whinging from Mindy who was experiencing some pretty horrific pain, he tried wrapping it.
Yeah, pretty quickly that proved to be a failure. And as the blood began seeping through the gauze, we decided to go with Allen’s first idea, so off we headed to the hospital.
On the way, I couldn’t help but joke. One, it’s my way of dealing with things I can’t really handle. Two, I was certain I was not the first, nor would I be the last, Thanksgiving casualty they saw at the emergency room.
I was right, by the way.
When we walked into the hospital, everyone asked how I got my injury. I was the first potato peeler injury of the day. Go me!
No one was surprised to hear it, though.
In the emergency room, I found myself getting nervous, especially when words like X-ray and tetanus were thrown about. Fortunately, it was determined I didn’t need the X-ray. Unfortunately, I did need the tetanus shot. Along with two other shots to numb my poor finger.
Okay, I had already been stabbed by needles twice this week. I got my flu shot Tuesday, and I had blood drawn Wednesday. Now I was getting stabbed three times???
Let the fainting begin.
It’s silly to say I don’t like needles. As the guy who drew my blood joked, “Does anyone really like being stuck with needles?” If you do, you are fricken weird.
I got the tetanus shot first, and surprisingly, that hurt less than the flu shot did. Though I currently feel like I’ve been punched in the arm for the past eight hours straight.
Then, the doctor came in to work on my finger.
I’m pretty certain he could sense my apprehension. Well, I’m pretty sure everyone within a 50-yard radius could sense my apprehension. I turned away with a sickened squeal as he unwrapped my finger. But then he became generous and laid the bed down flat so I didn’t have to watch him work.
Then I proceeded to crack everyone up.
I had been holding on to my wallet, but as the doctor prepared to work on me, I clutched on to it for dear life, my head turned to my left and my eyes squeezed shut. And he hadn’t even started yet.
The doctor warned me that he would numb my finger with two shots, one to each side of my wounded finger. And boy did he ever.
As the first needle broke my skin, I burst into loud hysterical laughter.
No, seriously, I burst into loud hysterical laughter, which in turn caused all of the attention in the place to turn to me.
And when he administered the second shot, I laughed even harder. But you know what, my finger went numb nearly immediately, and I still can’t feel that puppy eight hours later.
I got a grand total of four stitches. I know, I’m going to have a fricken sweet scar. Jealous? You should be. Dear God, I can’t even type that with a straight face.
So, I took a couple of pics. The first should only be viewed if you can handle gross stuff. The second is the PG version. When viewing these, remember how you spent your day chilling with relatives and stuffing yourself silly. You could have had a much more awesome day, a Minday to be exact.
Of course, tomorrow, when the numbness has worn off, and the pain kicks in, I won’t be so silly. In fact, I will hate this particular Minday.
For the record, typing this hilarious story up took ages. You never realize just how much you use the ring finger on your non-dominant hand until you try lopping it off.
Mindy Kinnaman 
