I slammed the sharp side of a knife into the side of my thumb today, alone with my daughters, right before nap time. And I faint at the sight of my own blood running from my own wound. Fortunately, I have a rock solid village. I have found that when I am in trouble, regardless of its type, my friends are my mirrors. I see myself in them, which makes me work to see them in me.
What a Week
So I’ve had a week. Already. And it’s only Monday. I came out of two thirteen hours days, back to back, tutoring history and government to high school students. They are headed into finals this week, and my tutoring center blows our doors wide open to accommodate their anxiety ridden frenzy. We work until Wednesday, the day before the kids’ last day of finals, and then we are off for eighteen days. But in the meantime, life is a bit crazy.
So I was happy indeed to not have to race off first thing this morning. At least these last three days of finals tutoring will be normal schedule; I don’t have to go in until my husband gets home from work.
I took the girls to the park; we came home for nap time. Matilda sat on the counter and ate pears, Celaya danced around the kitchen chatting with me while I chopped vegetable for a salad for me and a lunch plate for her. We were going to do crafts after Matilda went down.
The Cut
I was chopping baby bell peppers. I slice them lengthwise, splitting them in half, so that I can chop from the inside where my knife will slice right through the skin. From the outside, bell peppers have a rubbery texture and the knife can bounce off the skin.
I tuck my fingers under; I’ve been cooking for decades. I know how to cut vegetables. But my thumb was jutting out.
The knife caught on the flip side of a bell pepper as I chopped, bounced off, and slammed down on my thumb, just next to my fingernail, digging into the meat of my thumb, heading toward the pad of the digit. I saw it, I saw that it was deep, I saw the blood coming.
I rushed for a paper towel and covered the cut, holding my hand over my head, and I focused on my breathing.
Every single time I have an open wound with blood, I get lightheaded. I have only actually fainted once, as a teenager, but I know the signs.
Fuck
“Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.” I just kept saying. “I cut myself really bad.”
“Are you gonna be okay Mama?” Celaya wanted to know.
“Yes.” I said. “I will be okay. But I might have to go to the hospital.”
“Oh no!” Celaya cried, tears welling up in her eyes. “We’re not going to be able to do crafts!”
Celaya is already an emotional child, highly attached to me. She gets even more emotional when I am gone twice a year in finals. Not doing crafts just might have put her over the edge.
“No no. We’ll do crafts.” I rushed to reassure her. “We’ll do crafts.”
Make It Work
“Call your papa and your uncle, honey. I need to make sure somebody knows what’s happening.”
She grabbed her iPad and began repeatedly FaceTiming them.
I went into the hall for my first aid kit, Matilda on my hip, hand over my head, grabbed the kit, and went in to lay on the girl’s bedroom floor so I could not pass out and not drop my kid.
I open the first aid kit to find… nothing. We had gauze. That’s it. No bandaids, no tape, no medicine.
Great. I wrapped gauze around my finger, sent Celaya running for scotch tape, and bandaged myself the best I could.
By this time, it was well past Matilda’s nap time, so I took her in to put her down in my room, trying not to cry as she squeezed my thumb.
I came back out to do crafts with Celaya while we ate our lunch picnic style on the floor, and I finally heard back from my husband and my brother. By that time, I was in the clear.
We cut and glued christmas trees, we sprinkled glitter, we glued on pom poms, and my daughter got her one on one time with her mama.
Matilda woke up early, so I made dinner with her on the counter eating snacks and me nursing my thumb.
My husband came home and I headed out the door.
My Friends Are My Mirrors
When I got to work, I asked for help.
I was immediately surrounded by volunteers. My boss distracted me while tears streamed down my face and my front desk admin rebandaged my wound with actual supplies. I was ten minutes late for my first session, and my students sympathized with me when I got into the room.
I made it through the day, six hours of tutoring.
At the end of the day, my boss checked on me. “Have you changed your bandage?”
“No.”
“Wait. Stay right there.” He wouldn’t let me leave. He sent his daughter across the street for antiseptic. which was missing from our office first aid kit.
Once again, my coworkers surrounded me, a girlfriend unbound the gauze, cleaned my wound, another friend applied Neosporin, and my boss bandaged me up.
And once again, my coworkers laughed and joked, cheering me up.
“Oh, Shanna, that looks bad. You might need stitches.” Says my Biology tutor. Then she laughs.
Gee. Thanks.
My Thumb Is Cut But My Heart Is Full
I left work with a clean wound, half a pumpkin pie, and my heart full.
The dramas in life, mini or major, often reveal the strength of our villages. This one, for me, reminded me just how many people there are in my life who would do anything they could to help me.
My husband and brother would have come home if I needed them to. Any one of my mom friends would have rushed over had I called them. My coworkers quickly organize to patch me up, buy supplies, cheer me up, joke with me while I squirm. And my boss, easily one of the greatest humans alive, would drive me to emergency himself if I needed it, letting all of our collective students down in their craziest time of year.
It is these moments that make you want to be as good as the people around you, that you hope they see in you what you see in them, that you strive to be a better human. I am surrounded by genuinely kind, compassionate, caring people. We look in each other’s eyes, we ask about each other’s lives, and we listen, genuinely interested in the answers.
Taking Stock
I stopped at CVS on the way home, late, to pick up refill supplies for my own first aid kit.
“Are you almost home?” I get a text from my husband as I’m staining in line.
“No.” I text back. “My boss just finished bandaging up my finger again. I’m such a baby. I cried both times.”
“I’m sorry. I wish I was there to take care of you.” He says, totally Carlos.
“It’s okay.” I respond. “You’re taking care of our girls.
“And I have a really strong village.”