Having been asked about the axe incident mentioned in the last post, I started to write a loooong comment reply. Then I realized Blogger would just cut off the best bits of my reply, so new post it is!

So, UP, you did not miss any sarcasm. And if you know me from FEP, you can skip this, you've probably heard it a million times.

At work last summer part of my job involved chopping wood so that I could start a fire in my wood-burning stove to do things like.... oh... boil water to make tea. Bake. Heat the house in which I worked.

To chop kindling, one generally takes smaller logs, holds them upright, takes the axe (nope, not hatchet, full-size axe...) and taps at the edge until the axe causes the wood to just sort of sheer off on one side, so you get nice, thin pieces of wood.

This time, whilst chopping kindling it was at 5:30 in the evening when we were all tired and ready to go home... I tapped the admittedly quite narrow stick (but how else are you supposed to get nice, thin kindling?) with the axe a little too hard, the axe chopped the stick a little further than I was expecting. Yes, that's right. It slipped down to where I was holding the stick in my hand, between my index finger and my thumb, until a combination of friction from the wood and me dropping the stick as a reaction to the pain in my index finger stopped its motion.

It actually bled quite a lot. I was impressed. Thank god for those aprons we all wore all the time when doing domestic things. Mine became quite stained (thank god for Shout!), although if you didn't know where to look, you'd never have guessed (dark plaid... good for concealing blood). I learned that I'm mostly OK with the sight of my own blood, although after about 5 minutes I really did need to sit down.

It was quite humourous, actually, the reactions that everyone had. J immediately tried to get me to put her chickweed grease on it (um, no.) but I did let her wash it out with some herbal antiseptic she'd made. B was slightly more helpful and went for the First Aid Kit.

Interestingly enough, it took my supervisor an HOUR to get to me to fill out all the accident report forms and the like. I was thoroughly unimpressed.

I probably would have been fine, but every time I tried to un-bandage it, it would start bleeding again, so after calling my friend S in tears (she and I were supposed to meet for dinner that night, I was really quite upset that I wasn't going to be able to make it), I drove myself to the ER (yup, drove MYSELF... by the time I'd filled out those forms everyone else had left for the night) where I waited from about 7:30 until well after midnight to have the edges of my cut glued together - it was probably just as well I'd driven myself. Such is the Canadian medical system at the mo (see why I cancelled dinner instead of just postponing?). I got home to my 'rents place sometime between 1:30 and 2 in the morning. And had to get up for work the next day. Wee!

And you've not had fun until you've attempted to cover up modern bandaging and one of those stupid plastic finger condom things (not allowed to get the glue 'stitches' wet!) so that your injury looks historically accurately bandaged. The little bits of canvas on my hand looked FILTHY and DISGUSTING by the end of the day.

And that is all.