So, I appear to be the most frequently broken person on the planet. Yesterday, while opening a beer during the Friday Wii bowling tournament at work, the bottle I was opening broke and I cut my finger. I wasn't terribly concerned, and just wrapped it in a paper towel. When it bled through that towel, I wrapped it again. I repeated that process three times, and then stuck a band-aid on it and called it good.
This morning, I took the band-aid off and honestly? I'm vaguely concerned. There seems to be a not insignificant portion of my finger that isn't really attached to the rest of my finger.
How, you ask, did I not realize this was a touch more than a paper cut?
I have this bizarre tendency not to panic when injured. When I got hit by a car, I called my mother, and had the following conversation.
Me: Hey. I'm not dead, or hurt, or anything. But I just got hit by a car, and so I think maybe I shouldn't take the bus home. But I mean, I can. I just think maybe it would be better if you came and got me. So, is that an option?
Mom: incomprehensible screaming.
Me: Okay. So you'll call me back?
Likewise, when I stabbed myself in the foot recently, I stood there and stared at it for quite some time, before saying simply, "Huh. That probably isn't good." Then, I pulled it out, looked at the blood for a moment, wrapped a towel around it and went about my evening.
Most of the people in my life seem to think this is an enviable trait, this seeming inability to panic or freak out in the face of painful and possibly severe injury. But I'm starting to see how it really has some pretty negative side effects.
The worst of those side effects? Is the fact that nothing ever gets treated or fixed. Nothing. Ever.
The cut on my finger? I really think I probably should have had stitches. The stab wound in my foot? Only very recently healed, likely because it should have been seen and dealt with by a doctor. I had to be coaxed into going to the ER when I got hit by a car.
I wonder how long it's going to take for my finger to heal.