I cut off my fingertip
I cut off the tip of my finger. Not a lot, just a little sliver, but it happened and I'm a dramatic asshole so you better believe I'm gonna make a big deal out of it. The picture is at the bottom. You have to read the words first.
I was cooking my dinner on Tuesday night (tilapia with rice and green beans and a siracha pesto, thanks for asking) and using a new knife. Not just any knife, a fuckin knife. It's from Japan, and if anyone knows knives it's the Japanese. The hibachi. the seppuku, it's an important piece of the culture. Anyway, I'm mincing my ginger to add to the rice (I don't even really like ginger I'm just great at following instructions) and, wouldn't you know it, took off the tip of my finger tip.
It made a crunch. It squirted blood. Right out of my finger, right onto the paper towel roll. Onto the ginger. Everywhere, really.
I don't know if it was due to the sharpness of the blade, the adrenaline, or my incredible toughness but it didn't hurt. Not even a bit. Did someone tell you it hurt me? They're a liar. For the first time in my life, I felt like a man. I puffed my chest out and walked around my apartment, dripping blood on the floor with every step, thinking I was the toughest man in the world. I called my parents. "Remember the boy who played with Barbie dolls way too long? LOOK AT HIM NOW!" I called Kevin and pretended it was a call for his concern but actually I just wanted to brag, "Hey those knives we got? You might want to be careful. Why? Oh no reason maybe because I CUT OFF THE TIP OF MY FINGER WITH IT. Yeah, yeah I'm fine. No it doesn't even hurt at all. Did someone tell you it hurt me? They're a liar."
The hospital isn't far from my apartment, and I don't have much experience with losing chunks of flesh, so I figured "what the hell, might as well take a stroll." I fished through the ginger and found the lopped off piece of flesh, cleaned it, and wrapped it in a paper towel. Calmly put on my jacket (Carharrt. Man) and did my ponytail (to keep my hair out of my face. It's practical) then slid on my clogs (alright whatever) and headed to the ER.
Headphones and music weren't even necessary to make my mind think I was in a movie scene, I was getting that high all natural. Vivid dreams ran through my head of me being greeted at the hospital like a Roman soldier returning from battle, victorious. Women throwing flower petals and men throwing adulation. Where's the ambulance? You mean to tell me he WALKED? TWO blocks?? While missing a whole centimeter of his finger?? Someone call the president, get a Medal of Honor here.
Crossing the threshold and through the sliding doors I practiced humbly turning down the wheelchair or stretcher they would insist upon me when I told the receptionist I sliced off a sliver of the tip of my finger. Instead I was greeted by a 1,000 year old man who slid me a mask and piece of paper that asked my name, my reason for a visit, my vaccination status, and my pronouns (BIDEN!). Then told me to have a seat, I was third in line.
The first period of a sleepy Bruins vs. Predators game kept me entertained on ESPN+ while I waited my term and people who are unafraid of revolution sat around me, maskless. One, even sock and shoeless, which is a far braver stance if you ask me. Eventually, the nurse came to get me registered.
When I tell you this woman was *disgusted* with me I promise you I don't exaggerate. I peeled the bloody rag off me and she looked at me like that single act had woken her from a coma and she forgot she was a nurse in a hospital.
"Ugh. What would you like me to do?"
Well, I'm glad you consulted me, because as luck would have it I just got my medical degree while sitting in that chair out there. "Ummm... I don't know? I guess, like, bandage it? I brought the other piece."
"Good point. Now I feel silly."
The conversation got progressively worse and I slowly realized more and more that instead of a fingertip-less badass I was actually a pussy for going to the hospital at all. The nurse instructed me to throw away the chunk. I asked if "it" was going to grow back. "Your fingernail? Yes," she said to me, like I was a 34 year old who was both more concerned with his manicure and also too dumb to know how fingernails worked. "No, the finger part." "Oh. No."
When I asked if I should see a doctor she said they were pretty busy. She had a look in her eye that said, "The guy in the room next door overdosed on something called Cabbage Patch Crack and the woman on the other side survived an, and I quote, "SVU-like rape." Do you know what either of those are? Because I don't, yet I need to go find out and then somehow sleep tonight."
Unable to leave with nothing I asked, "So what should I do?" and she handed me some gauze, tape, told me to go to the pharmacy and get some bacitracin, then spit in my face and said to scram.
As it turns out, one teeny tiny piece of flesh (honestly now that I think about it I lost significantly more at my circumcision) does not make you a man.
I am who I am.
PS - I’m not fixing any typos. I’m typing down a finger.
PPS - anyone who’s ever worked in a kitchen has a worse injury than this.
Here's the picture of it. It's mostly cleaned up. Not a bloody mess. Sorta what you would expect but also sorta not either. I just don't have some of my finger anymore.