blood. for millennia it's been one of our strongest literary metaphors. shakespeare was all about blood. chaucer was no stranger to the subject. even jesus was down with the blood scene. but to me, blood isn't just a convenient symbol of the fragility of the human race (or all animalkind), it's one of my most important body parts. with rare clinical exceptions, every time i lose much blood, i pass out.
the first time it happened was high school chemisty class. we were in the lab learning how to break glass tubing. i held mine backward while trying to break it, cut my hand open, & shortly thereafter collapsed to the floor. that awakening from a blackout is one of my least favorite experiences, waking up in a strange environment, in pain, with people hovering over you, with no memory of what happened until full consciousness returns.
the most recent occurrence happened just last night (hence this sermon's tardiness). i was doing some generic arts&crafts-type junk with this utility knife, not paying attention to where my fingers were, when the blade folded back in on my finger. i rushed the bathroom & put it under running water (which turned out to be the wrong thing to do). my father was nearby, so i yelled to him "what do you do if you cut an artery?"
already i could feel myself becoming lightheaded. once you've blacked out from blood loss a few times the symptoms become pretty obvious. he answered "pressure" & came into the hallway. i held my finger at its base. it was still bleeding, but not gushing across the room or anything. i told my father i was getting lightheaded. he told me to sit on the toilet, but i only had time to fall on my knees & say "no time" before i lost consciousness, hit my head on the sink, & fell to the ground.
i probably wasn't out long. we bandaged the wound, all the while trying to keep the dog out my face. but the bleeding didn't stop. my father ran next door (our neighbor is a nurse, but she wasn't home) & i made my way downstairs. the bleeding still hadn't stopped. so we all got in the car & ran down to the "doctor in a box" as my mom calls it, the immediate care center in nora.
i was lucky enough to get a tetanus shot before the doctor finally came around. after a quick diagnosis ("yeah, that's going to need some stitches"), he left, came back with his needles, & went to work. the admistering of the painkiller zilocaine was by far the worst part; it felt like he jabbed the needle into my wound & worked it around as he squirted. finally i got 3 stitches (which stung when the needle went through but were nothing to the zilocaine), was bandaged up, & sent home with instructions to return in 4 days.if anything, it was a great excuse to take a sick day today, which i did. i slept until 1, it's only 6:30 now, & i still feel productive. tomorrow i'll probably return to work, but i don't know easy it'll be. trying to write with this hand will not be fun. it just had to be my right index finger right at the joint.
i tried to donate blood twice before swearing off it forever. the first time i blacked out on the table, which wasn't too pleasant. but i tried again the next time around, & that time i was about to black out but they stopped me. i would've preferred blacking out, because all day afterward i felt terrible: lightheaded, tired, like i was on the verge of collapsing any second. that was when i decided that the strain of donating blood was not worth it. some people can donate blood. i don't think i can. i don't know if it's a psychosomatic thing or some undiagnosed anemia or what, but i don't handle blood loss well. i would be totally ineffective in the military; even if they somehow crushed my rebellious spirit(tm), i'd fall to the ground unconscious any time i were injured.
as you can imagine, typing is awkward & using the mouse even moreso. next week i'll be on the road to recovery.
back to the sermon page