I Was Stabbed

(WARNING: There are some slightly gruesome pictures in this post. I’ll try and keep them under the jump cut.)

I stabbed myself.

In the hand.

Quite by accident.

It’s really as simple as that. I was at an event representing that station and breaking down our booth. I was trying to cut down a banner being held up by zipties. The pocket knife I was using jumped the tie and plunged directly into my left hand. Then came the blood. So much blood.

Thankfully, my friend Jordan was in the booth next to me. He jumped over and helped hold my hand together while sending others to get the paramedics. They called for an ambulance to take me to the ER. I haven’t been to the ER since I was a kid (I was an accident prone kid).

Photos after the jump…

I remained pretty calm the entire time. The adrenaline wore off on the ambulance ride. That’s when the pain kicked in. Getting stabbed hurts.

A lot.

I never felt scared, really. I knew the paramedics taking me to the ER (one is married to a co-worker). I knew the ER doctor who stitched me up. I’d interviewed him on stories (small perk of being a journalist in a small town). My Assistant News Director was with me in the ER. L was waiting on me at home. Looking back, the entire situation could have been entirely different. Glad I was where I was.

What have I learned? I’m not good with knives. Even when I’m cooking, I’m always hyper-aware of what the knife is doing. It’s like being in a car accident. You never really drive the same way again.


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