Day 12 - Worst Injury and How It Happened

Ah, time for another story :)

I think we'll title this one, "Doing What You Love Can Hurt" or "If You Wash Dishes You Could Lose a Hand! (not that I did, I'm using poetic license)"

I was in my late teens.  My best friend's family and my family would get together after church almost every Sunday.  Lots of times we had other people join us.  We would have a big dinner together, and my best friend and I would always chat and do the dishes while the adults drank coffee/tea and the kids went off to play.  Later in the afternoon a bunch of us would go for a walk in the woods.

On this particular Sunday, there were around 14 people there.  R (best friend) and I did our usual routine, clearing off the table, me washing, he drying.  Enjoying hanging out and talking about anything and everything.  Nowadays I realize that a teenager doing dishes voluntarily is probably news-worthy, but I was used to helping take care of a household, and I loved washing dishes and gazing out of the window.  When people commented, I replied that washing dishes was my therapy.

So anyway, there I am, washing plates and cutlery and glasses.  I have super-small hands, so I'd always stick  my hand and the washcloth in the glass, because that was the easiest way for me to wash them.  So there I am, talking away, sticking my hand in glass after glass.

And then as soon as I stuck my hand in one and started swishing around the dishcloth, the glass broke.  A huge chunk off the side, and before I could stop my hand, the thick, broken edge caught the knuckles on my left thumb and forefinger.  It took a second for R and I to clue in what had happened, and for the blood to start flowing.  Then I clamped the sopping wet washcloth over my hand, and R and I argued what to do.  I wanted to tell my mom, but there were so many people in the other room and even though I knew all of them, I was really shy.

Finally, I poked my head into the dining room and said, "Mom, could you come here?"

As soon as she saw it, she shrieked, "OMIGOSH!!!" (my mother doesn't swear) and then shrieked for other people to come in.  Next thing I know I'm sitting on a chair in front of the sink and someone's patting my shoulder and the retired-police-officer-guy was examining my hand and R's mom was running around getting first aid stuff...

All in all, it didn't end up being too bad.  The wounds probably could have used stitches, but I didn't go to the hospital to get any.  We kept my hand bandaged for a week or so, graduating from gauze and tape to huge knuckle bandages to smaller, simple bandages.

I wore rubber gloves to wash dishes and didn't stick my hand in any glasses.  :)