Knife Fight - Knife Won

This is the second time I have injured myself with a knife.

The first time was some years ago. I had a brand new paring knife, after  my own mysteriously disappeared. I figure it got accidentally thrown out with scraps or something.

I picked up a brand new one at Target, which my husband disliked on sight. Now, he isn't a feelie person at all - I'm the one who usually has bad vibes about stuff.

Anyway, I was at home alone and slicing potatoes. I promise you, it somehow stabbed me in the webbed part between forefinger and thumb. And when I say stabbed, I mean it went in several inches. I was okay until I actually looked at the wound, then I found myself getting light headed with black spots before my eyes. I prayed I could make it to the couch before I fainted. I had a huge gap in my hand that was pooled with blood and I could see white stuff way down in my hand.

I had a feeling this wasn't a good thing.

I was praying about what to do. I knew I couldn't drive - heck, I couldn't get off the couch - so I said, specifically, "Lord, tell me what to do."

He said, "Call Glenda."

Glenda was a woman I had supervised through another supervisor for years. Now, this was a little while after I retired, but I picked up the phone and told the secretary I had an emergency and to get Glenda out of the meeting.

Even though I wasn't their boss anymore, I had been for a hundred years, so she obeyed me without question.

I told Glenda what I had done. She said, "Tell me your full name, your birth date and as close as you can as to the time you were born."

I happened to know that because I was teased all my life that I ruined every body's Sunday dinner by being born at 12:35 p.m.

She told me to give her a minute or so and the bleeding would stop.

We hung up. In one minute the bleeding stopped.

Just like that.

She is the daughter of the seventh son of a seventh son or not, and I know it sounds superstitious. I must have heard that she could stop bleeding at some point - I guess. Anyway, God knew she could do it through Him and told me so.

I would have never in a million years believed it myself. Well, I do now, of course.

It never hurt till I went to a surgeon the next day. They did stuff that you wouldn't do to a loved one, then stitched it up, bandaged it, said I'd start hurting really bad in about twenty minutes, and sent me home, giving me an appointment at some date to get the stitches out.

You can't really see where it happened, because the scar looks just like one of the wrinkles in my hand.

David took that knife, tied it up, taped it up, put it in several bags and taped them up, and took it to the dump. He said, "It's not going to hurt anyone else. I told you that knife was bad."

Go figure.

So, Saturday I was using a new serrated knife and, once again, slicing potatoes. Husband asked me something, and I turned slightly and the blade went straight through said potato and about a quarter inch into my thumb in about a half inch cut.

It probably needed a couple of stitches, but I didn't wanna go, so we've butterflied it and I change the dressing every night.

I now know where the term "sticks out like a sore thumb" comes from.

They were thinking of me when they said it.