Saturday, December 17, 2011


So I'm beginning with the above photo of my eldest son looking all noble in his warrior atire.  This photo is to ensure that nothing disturbing shows up in your Google Reader just in case you are not even remotely interested in what I'm about to show.

That being my chunked up finger.  It ain't perty. 

So, here:

*WARNING* do not scroll down if you are squeamish or prone to fainting at the sight of gross bodily ailments or don't really want to see the results of my dang-blasted, over-confident, and obviously less-than-adequate knife skills.


Scroll at your own risk.

No, really, it's not really that bad.  "It's but a flesh wound!" ("What are ya gonna do??  BLEED on me?")  Heh.


Here ya go.

This was when we changed the bandage today.  I'm thinking it looks awfully white and maybe not like it's doing what it was supposed to do.  The doc scraped the inside of the finger pad out to make a flap of skin to sew on in hopes it would aid healing, but I'm not so sure now.  Wishing I had just asked him to cut the chunk off all the way.  And yes, he stitched through my nail.  Those ones hurt...

Anyway, we'll see what he says on monday.  I'm off to go kick myself some more.


  1. The line cooks at the restaurant would one-up you in a second. Wear it with pride, badge of honor.

    On a quasi-related note, Anthony Bourdain talks in Kitchen Confidential about working in a restaurant he started with other hard-edged friends. When a cook self-inflicted a cut on the line, they'd try to make it bleed as much as possible all over themselves and their white coats. Then, they'd get a can of spray paint and a stencil of a knife and spray paint the stencil on their line station, like WWII pilots who spray-stenciled their kills on the side of their plane cockpits. Now you know how to handle it next time.