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Dane Allred’s Rules of Engagement
Spading Myself
Part Three
I could visualize winning the "Emergency Room's Stupidest Patient" video contest, with the host playing the video over and over again imitating my voice and intoning, "Can you get it out? Can you get it out?"
It was only a few steps to the concrete step, and by the time I arrived and had played out the above scenario out in my mind several times, I was determined to get that blade out of my hand.
I put the unencumbered tines on the step and hung my hand off the side. The goal was to do this in one motion, much like yanking off a bandage. I pulled hesitantly and confirmed the holding power of steel against flesh - it felt like it was super-glued to my hand.
So I knew it would take a mighty yank to get this off my hand, and I would probably only be able to endure the pain of one attempt.
So I threw my weight into it, and locked my arm and slid the hand down and off the blade. It still didn't really hurt so bad I couldn't stand it, but for the next part I was unprepared.
The blade was off, but now two gaping holes in my hand started to pour out blood. I'm not very good with blood, even though I have a fairly high pain threshold. Especially if it is my blood.
A wave of nausea swept over me and for the first time I felt like I was going to faint. I got lightheaded and doubted that I would be able to make it up the patio stairs to the phone. A mental image washed over me -- my dead body collapsed at the base of the stairs with people standing over me shaking their heads and muttering, "Another senseless potato pitchfork death."
Blood was pooling everywhere, and I somehow made it up the stairs and opened the back door. I went to the kitchen sink and rinsed out the dirt as best I could, relishing the feel of the cold water on my flesh which seemed to be searing with heat.
I grabbed the dishtowel next to the stove and wrapped my hand up several times. I stumbled to the phone, dialed 911 and lay down on the floor.
When the operator answered and asked what was the nature of my emergency, I told her I had stabbed myself and thought I might pass out. The good news about land line phones is that they already have your address when you call. We had a man die here locally when he was called 911 on a cell phone and they couldn't find him.
The emergency operator assured me that she knew where I was, and was sending an ambulance. I told her that I would be lying in a pool of blood at the top of the stairs. I told her to tell the EMT to just come in the front door and walk upstairs. She was very comforting and kept me calm, and as I looked over at my hand, I realized I really was lying in a pool of blood.
The ambulance driver came in and took great care of me, not even laughing when I told him what had happened. He wrapped up my hand into a softball sized mound of gauze and I limped to the ambulance under my own power. Some people from the neighborhood were standing outside wondering what I had done this time, and as I emerged, I waved my giant wrapped hand at them and said I was okay. "I stabbed myself," I think I said.
I had discussed the emergency room with the EMT. I knew that if I went to the emergency room I would be late for my opening night performance. And my doctor was only four blocks down the street.
Somehow I convinced him to deposit me at the doctor's office. I'm guessing this is not standard operating procedure since they were very hesitant to let me do it, but when I insisted they walked me gingerly all the way back into the room where I would be worked on. Then they had me sign a release saying this is where I wanted to be and that I wouldn't sue them later for not taking good care of me.
I was also worried what Debbie would think when she came home and saw the blood all over the kitchen floor, but luckily my daughter Aleesa was driving up to our house when she saw me being taken away in an ambulance. Devoted daughter that she is, she followed us to the doctor's office and came right in the door.
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