'What a man can do and what a man can't do...'

Despite the quote, this post has nothing to do with Pirates of the Caribbean. What it does refer to is my recent incident with a can, where I discovered rather painfully one more thing I can't do... (warning: don't eat while reading the following)

On Monday I experienced my first kitchen accident. Whilst searching for something for lunch I stumbled upon a tin of spaghetti (not literally, and so, not the aforementioned accident). It was a handy ring-pull tin - designed to be safer and easier to open, right? Well, I don't have a lot of muscle power and getting the lid to peel was proving extremely difficult for me. However, not to be bested by the packaged pasta, I gave one almighty tug, the lid finally peeling... and slicing straight into my finger!

I jerked my hand away and inspected the damage to discover a sight I am just not designed to be able to cope with - a mash of blood, tomato sauce and mangled skin! Recalling my very limited first aid knowledge, I applied pressure to the spot (also rather handily covering the offending sight) and broke down crying and moaning while my younger brother rang my mum.

Embarrassingly enough, despite the blood, pain and impending changes to my carefully scheduled week, what scared me the most was the imminent visit to the hospital and whatever cleaning, stitching and general handling of the wound would ensue. Shaking and sniffling all the way to the hospital, I then waited somewhat impatiently for the triage nurse to finish dealing with people who seemed comparatively fine (bits of them weren't bleeding!), including a guy who offered us cigarettes while we waited.... When it was finally my turn, I heard the words I'd been longer to hear: "That doesn't look like it will need stitches." I don't think I've stopped thanking God for that. Not to mention the fact that I didn't hit anything important, like nerves or veins.

After that, the nurse sent us off to our own doctor, which meant a trip up to the uni (looking like an absolutely dag, I might add) and a visit to the campus nurse. She cleaned it up with salt-water, attached several steri-strips, wrapped it in allegedly non-stick gauze and finished the job with the bandage I now have as a trophy of my ordeal.

So yeah, here I am now, my finger still quite sore, waiting for it to be all better. What have I learnt from this experience? I don't know... perhaps it's too early to tell. Hopefully something! If nothing else, I've realised yet again how dismal my kitchen abilities are, and how much I appreciate can openers.