Uncle Roger's Notebooks of Daily Life
My life is, to me, ripe with frequent challenges, occasional successes, spontaneous laughter, adequate tears, and enough *life* to last me a lifetime. To you, however, it surely seems most pedestrian. And therefore, I recycle the name I used previously and call this my Notebooks of Daily Life. Daily, because it's everyday in nature, ordinary. These conglomeration of events that are my life are of interest to me because I live it, perhaps mildly so to those who are touched by it, and could only be of perverse, morbid curiosity to anyone else. Yet, I offer them here nonetheless. Make of them what you will, and perhaps you can learn from my mistakes.
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Wednesday, November 30, 2005
I've had it. I just can't take it anymore! I can't go on! Goodbye cruel world!
Just kidding! But I did slit my wrist...
I once told a friend that I had gotten a girl knocked up. "Luckily," I added quickly, before the heart attack set in, "it was Rachel."
It was Sunday night, the kids were in bed, and I was taking out the garbage. Being the Thanksgiving weekend, we had a lot of trash. A lot from cleaning the house as well as from the big dinner. I took the last bag of actual garbage (as opposed to recycling or composting) out and put it in the can. I then started to push it down, hoping to crush things that were crushable to get it to fit better.
Unfortunately, one of the crushable items in there was a wine glass that had cracked. It went POP! and my wrist went swish! and I looked down to see a whole lot of blood coming out of a cut nearly two inches long. I walked into the house, into the kitchen, and told Rachel "We need to go to the hospital." as I began washing it off. That hurt, so I stopped and asked her to go get the gauze pads out of the bathroom. She did and I did my best to get the bleeding to at least slow down.
Rachel was pretty freaked, but she managed to get the kids up and ready to head out. We loaded them in the car and started off to the hospital. I drove because I was the calmest of the bunch (with the exception of Sara who was fast asleep) and because I am the fastest -- I once beat the ambulance from our house to the same hospital. Meanwhile, I told Jared I wanted him to come along so I wouldn't be scared. (I've found that turning things around like that produces the desired behaviour more often than just telling kids to behave.)
Once there, I parked -- found a spot right across from the emergency room, a miracle in San Francisco! -- grabbed Jared, and headed in to get started. Rachel followed shortly with Sara fast asleep in the stroller. It didn't take long for me to see the triage nurse who basically sent me on in. At this point, Rachel and the kids retired to the waiting room to, well, wait. Once inside, (luckily, not the same room my dad was in,) I lay back and waited. I got a tetanus shot and then some x-rays to see if there was any glass in the wound (there wasn't). Then they numbed the wound, cleaned it out, and started to sew it up.
It turns out the cut was over an inch and a half long and nearly a half inch deep. It took six or seven stitches (I'm not sure; I was doing my best to pretend I wasn't there) to sew it up, and I get to keep it wrapped up for two weeks. With my luck, I won't even get a decent scar out of it.