It was just a strawberry. Nothing big, like a watermelon. Nothing tiny, like a garlic clove. Nothing hard, like a coconut. By all accounts, it should have been easy enough to cut.
So I still don’t quite understand how my son ended up with six stitches on his thumb from a strawberry slicing session gone bad. But such is the way of life.
The last time a family member had such a serious gash, I was the one who was subject to puzzled expressions and furrowed brows. And the weapon of the day was not a knife, but a Hoover…..
“And why are you here today?” the receptionist asked me.
“I have a cut on my head,” I replied.
“We’ll get you in next to take a quick look at it,” she said.
Almost immediately, the nurse was peering through my hair, looking for the laceration. “Just follow the dried blood,” I thought. She found it, and said the doctor would have to decide whether to put in stitches or staples. “And how did this happen?” she queried.
“I got hit in the head with a vacuum cleaner.” Blank stare from her. “Well, the sweeper was on the stair landing and I was sitting on a stair below it. I was using the hose and the attachments. I guess I wasn’t really paying close attention, because out of the blue the entire vacuum cleaner was airborne and some piece of it suddenly hit me on the head. I was stunned and it hurt A LOT, so I decided the stairs were going to stay as they were. I rested a minute to collect myself, noticed a drop of blood on my hand, then investigated and found a bit more on the stair, but nothing serious. So I took a shower, washing my hair rather gingerly. And then I hauled the vacuum upstairs and swept up there.”
“Then I was off to volunteer at the College Career Center at the high school. But on the way a felt dried blood in my hair and wondered if there was more going on than I had imagined. One of my co-volunteers, a physical therapist, checked me out and suggested we visit the school nurse. Who checked me out and thought a visit to an emergency care clinic might be in order. At which time my other co-volunteer, a physician, arrived, and concurred.”
After all was said and done, I ended up getting staples in my head. And weird looks from people who asked what had happened. The emergency care physician said I needed a better story. I think that, instead of believing my vacuum cleaner chronicle, he believed my brain was a vacuum.