Today it poured in sunny Southern California. I'm not talking about the usual light drizzle that sends Southern Californians into a tizzy, this was legitimate, unrelenting rain with wind and everything.
Brady and I actually had the day off together due to Dr. Martin Luther King's birthday. We rarely have the day off together so it was a nice treat to stay home together in our pajamas and work from home. Days off don't really exist for lawyers because you still need to bill and stuff still needs to get done, but it was nice to be home together. At one point in the day the poor dogs needed to go out and do their thing. We couldn't let them out back because our very small backyard had turned into a lake. So I told Brady if he would take them on a little walk to go potty, I would make him a grilled cheese sandwich. He accepted. And that's when the horror began.
I thought I had conquered the art of making a grilled cheese sandwich. In reality, I got cocky. I pulled out my fancy mandoline slicer from crate and barrel. I have used this before to get really nice, thin slices of cheese so it melts perfectly. I now hate this contraption. So I'm standing there in the kitchen, slicing my cheese, thinking how perfect my sandwich is going to be and how Brady is such a sucker for taking the dogs out in the rain while all I have to do is make a little sandwich.
I'm holding the stupid slicer in one hand, pushing down on the cheese with the other, I push down the cheese all the way to slice it and, yep, in the process slice open my finger. In fact, I took out a giant chunk of skin from the top of my right middle finger. It started gushing blood. I could barely get a paper towel off the roll before I started dripping blood all over the kitchen.
I yelled for Brady who had since returned from his walk. I started to feel dizzy and faint. I was convince I was losing buckets of blood. Brady helped me fashion a band aid around my gaping wound. After a few hours and many soaked band aids, Brady said he was taking over and that I needed to get my finger to stop bleeding. He made me hold my finger under running cold water which hurt like a bitch. Pardon my french but this really freaking hurt. I screamed and whined so much that poor Frank was all upset and I'm surprised the neighbors didn't call the cops. I started feeling dizzy again and had to sit down. Now Brady made me hold my hand above my head with ice and pressure. I continued to scream and whine that it hurt. Every time I saw the paper towel soaked with blood I felt queasy and had to look away.
It's been hours since I cut my finger and it is still bleeding, although it is bleeding a lot less. This has got to be one of the most painful things I have ever gone through. In the midst of my panicking about my finger and whining to Brady, I thought "how in the hell am I ever going to handle childbirth!?!" That epidural better be as good as people say it is!