I know what you're thinking. Aren was shot. I'm not going to lie to you... I was not shot. But there was a lot of blood. An enormous pool of it. For those of you that know me well, you'll know that I am no stranger to the emergency room. Somehow or another I find myself in those emergency room waiting rooms every year, exchanging curious glances with other patients, passing time reading 3 year old canadian magazines.
Most recently I fell hiking. My boot got completely wedged in between two large rocks, as we were rapidly descending down a mountain trail. My body kept moving forward and down, my foot did not. I ended up at a 45 degree angle, with my feet up above my head. As I was falling I managed to catch myself, pushup style, on two sharp rocks. My face was spared - but my hand was badly gouged. I spent 5.5 hours in the emergency room to get stitched up by an intern. I blame the scar on her.
The time before that was probably up at Whistler, when I slammed my thumb into a big tree and tore the ligament. Not a big deal, the Whistler hopital was great. I had previously completely severed that tendon before, when a friend bumped into me with a knife, but that's a different story. Surgery. Big scar from that. There was also the time that I tore the tendon in my ring finger - same hand. Then of course there was the memorous incident of the funny bone breaking off during an arm wrestle. Wicked scar from that one. Two big surgeries. More minor, but once I had a push pin completely stuck in my foot, it had hit bone and bent like a fish hook. The solution was anesthetic and a good pull. Once while doing some packing work at an old job a razor knife blade broke on me and my arm swung down and sliced through my jeans and my leg. Stitches and scar. When travelling in the middle east I was hospitalized a couple of times. My fondest memory of the whole trip was waking up in the middle of the night feeling a little strange. I was sticky. And there was a weird smell. My IV had popped out and my blood was pumping freely all over me. Damn Turkish hospitals. I took off my T-Shirt and wrang out the blood. No joke. The two other hospital trips weren't as interesting. There are more - ankle cracks and whatnot, but I'll spare you.
Anyway, needless to say I am sick and tired of emergency rooms! When I hurt myself these days the first thing that goes through my mind is not about the severity of my injury but, "oh crap, I'm going to have to sit in an emergency room for 5 hours." Tonight on the way home from a Southasian street festival, I tripped on an escalator, thanks to some big sandals. The toe of the sandel caught the edge of the stair and I drove my foot straight into the steel with all the strength I could muster. It winced. I noticed the blood right away. It was really incredible. It just started pouring out. My sandel was flooded in a matter of seconds. Soon there was blood all over the floor of the subway station. It looked like a horrible scene of violence. Reva was with me and we both struggled to find something to apply pressure with. Of course, we only had our favourite clothes with us. I was wearing a shirt Reva had just finished customizing for me. Reva was wearing a brand new shirt that she loved. I looked over and there in my bag was my favourite zip-up. I hadn't had a chance to wear it yet since moving to Toronto, so I figured I'd cover it with blood and dirt. Reva bandaged me up and off we went to the hospital. The story is boring from there on. The service at emergency was good - they respond quickly to large amouts of blood. The doctor was friendly and hunky. The damage to the toe is minimal. 6 stitches. No biggie. Warning, one of the photos below is a little graphic.
