Not For the Squeamish! (seriously)

***WARNING: DO NOT READ THIS POST IF SQUEAMISH. IT HAS PICTURES!***

There I was minding my own business, having a perfectly enjoyable Saturday morning with lots of goals in mind for the rest of the day. Then I remembered my dad asked me to clean the bathrooms before my grandparents got there that afternoon. (They were coming into town for my mission farewell talk in church)

Uggghhh, I thought to myself, how can I get out of this.... when a lightbulb came on in my head. Michael! I sauntered over to my younger brother's bedroom and woke him up.  "Hey! Don't you know grandma and grandpa are coming to today?!" I said. "Don't you know you're supposed to clean the bathrooms before they get here?" Michael groaned. "Hey, don't sweat it," I said (all the while thinking I was so smooth), "I'll help you.  I'll even let you choose which bathroom you clean and I'll clean the other one."

It was settled that Michael would clean the downstairs bathroom and I would clean the upstairs.  I felt so smart for having tricked Michael into thinking it was his chore, cutting my work load in half.  I made my way to the bathroom and looked around. How can I do this in the fastest way possible, with the least amount of effort?, I thought to myself.  Clorox wipes! I sped my way past the tub, threw some cleaner in the toilet and started on the sink, wipe in hand. After giving the counter top a quick swipe, I moved in to dust off the backsplash and ledge underneath the mirror.  Little did I know something horrible was waiting for me there:

The nasty culprit

Suddenly I felt a sharp pain go through my finger.  Reacting from the shock of the pain, and thinking it was just a papercut-like wound, I shook my hand quickly up and down.  Blood flew everywhere.  I looked down at my finger and my stomach turned.  This was no papercut. 

"Ahhh...." I said. "I've cut myself... I've cut myself really bad!"  (I only vaguely remember saying these words, but apparently, according to Michael, my initial reaction was very calm. So calm, in fact, that he thought I was joking at first.)  I looked at my finger again and ran down stairs. "AHHHH," I said, getting a little louder. "I cut myself really bad and I don't know what to do!"  My dad ran up the stairs from the basement into the kitchen where I was standing.  "Ah!" I said.  My dad looked at my finger, thought for a second, and grabbed a paper towel to wrap my finger in.  "Here...just...put some pressure on it." Before I could blink, Amy was in the kitchen too.  "What happened?" Amy asked.  "I cut my finger on the mirror!" I said, sobbing now and hopping around the kitchen.  "We need to take Anne to the emergency room," my dad said.  "Can I see it?" asked Amy? "It's really deep, we need to go now," dad replied.  And the discussion was finished.  We jumped in the car, drove twenty minutes at 80 miles an hour to the ER in Great Falls and the rest was waiting.



this is after an hour, when we finally got into a room to be seen




then she left me to just bleed on this towel for 30 minutes



finally, the doctor came in and stitched me back together

After 8 stitches, the doctor informed me that part of my finger was just missing and she couldn't stretch the skin to completely sew up the wound, so part of my laceration was just left open.  Then, the doctor left and the nurse came back into the room, handed me a pack of gauze and said in 10 days I'll be able to get the stitches out and should be healed.  I'll get to keep a really cool scar as a souvenir from this cleaning-gone-wrong-escapade, but otherwise, I'll be fine.  Still....it was  is really painful. If only there had been a sign:

there is now!

But, I suppose it's probably karma for tricking Michael into thinking he had to do my chores.  That'll be the last time I ask someone to clean the bathroom for me. Heck, that'll probably be the last time I clean a bathroom myself.  Or at least a mirror.  Ew.