Friday, November 9, 2012

Finger Socks

     Oh hello world. I am feeling oh so cheery today...mmmm sarcasm. I was thinking lately about a post on my recent travels, my refreshing visit to Kansas to visit my dear friend C whom you have all read about during my great Malaysian adventure. I was going to say something about how awesome it feels to see someone who you not only met across the world, but hails from yet another world and now inhabits your own country. Or perhaps I should blog about turning another year older and how I have this false feeling, at the ripe age of 26, of getting old. Maybe even talk about the "awesome" celebration I had...which didn't exist because I spent the day delusional and sick in bed. During that discussion of bodily illness I could just divulge in how I had to run home and take care of my dog that now is on an uber-expensive diet because she could develop bladder stones. No...that doesn't seem to fit either.

    Needless to say, this week was not kind to me. Oh no not at all. Granted, I know my little complaints are nothing compared to what a majority of the population faces every day. However, I wouldn't call being sick on one's birthday, dealing with an ailing pet, or visiting a good friend don't really fall under the umbrella of 'first world problems.' I would consider these things more universal in nature. Now that I've gotten them out there on the "cloud" one would think it would be time to close this post. Boy do I hate the word "cloud" it makes the internet feel quite douchey to be honest. Ah, I digress, yet again, I am really going to write about this fine Friday morning/afternoon. Because there is quite the tale to tell...behold: The Tale of the Exploding Lightbulb.




     READER BEWARE: If you are squeamish about blood and what not...don't read this.

     It was like any other morning at the DIY corner. Today's task was to intermittently write a cover letter while testing out some painting techniques on my mass collection of recycled bottles and jars. I was optimistic for some good results, perhaps I wouldn't have to invest in spray paint after all. The experiment began as any other. My lighting and tools were lined up and I was clicking away with my camera to report my findings on OliverNina. Things were running quite smoothly until the natural light from the window disappeared and I was getting some yellowed tinges in my pictures. My instincts told me to do what was natural, grab the hand-me-down true color lamp to get rid of the yellow light and grab some good shots of my work.

     It all started when the bulb made a loud POP! I couldn't imagine the thing had burnt out already, I had just replaced it a month ago. However, it wasn't turning on so I decided to stubbornly replace it. To my surprise, the thing wouldn't come loose. This should have been a warning sign, as it is a pronged bulb and not your normal twisty bulb. Oh but no, I was determined, because God forbid if my pictures looked like crap. I give it a good tug and then, chaos ensued.

   BANG! AHHHH $*#$@!!!! OH SHIT!! My dog, who is already overly sensitive to sudden drama came cowering over to the scene of the explosion tail between her legs. Just after comprehending the fact that a CFL light bulb had literally just exploded in my face I scream again. This gained the attention of MB who was facing the other direction during the blast. Me, unable to move due to the utter state of shock, decided that the rational thing to do is scream. I never scream in situations like this. In fact, I was trained as a lifeguard and have even been tested in plenty of real world situations to not panic. Dumbfounded by my reaction, I then look down at my hand where the lightbulb used to reside and to my surprise find a large piece of shrapnel dug into the spot where my upper joint of my pinky should be. Ewww I say to myself what the hell happened? Quickly I do the hardcore thing and pull the piece of glass out wide-eyed as the blood sputters out behind it. I am suddenly overcome by adrenaline and out of character, decide it is time to scream again.

DO SOMETHING!!  I shout. Although there is really nothing he can do. The blast radius extends out a good 2 m (6 feet people) from where I am standing. Nina, so insistent on helping decides that prancing through the wreckage would result in this whole scenario disappearing. 

NO!!! Mike and I shout. Nina is again stressed and retreats to the outskirts of the scene whining and yelping.

"What the...! Hand!"

"Do you need to go to the hospital?"

"No, I'll be fine, let me just run it under cold water." I scurry off to the bathroom and suddenly feel faint.

Blood spills into the sink and I wonder why my finger doesn't hurt. However, I can't think for long because suddenly a wave of nausea comes across me. I kneel down thinking, what is going on Meg? You never get woozy over blood, what is going on? A little freaked I decide to wrap up my pinky with some damp tissues and go to lay down.

Adrenaline still pumping and blood still oozing at a steady pace I decide to investigate my wound because there was nothing normal about this whole event. Removing the tissues I gently flex my pinky. BIG MISTAKE. I mean huge, huge, huge mistake. Inside I saw the deep red of the severed vein and some freshly torn muscle. Panic returns and I've had enough of it at this point it's time to let it all hang out.

"OH MY GOD M! I JUST SAW THE INSIDE OF MY FINGER! IT'S RED! AND BLOODY! AHHH"

He attempts to calm me down but it is useless at this point. He insists we go to the hospital and get it stitched up.

The rest of the story is pretty typical. In fact, the whole story is common place and I was lucky to get away with only four stitches. It didn't even hurt, due to the hormonal surge that came over me during the whole affair. Light bulb explosion hand casualties are actually relatively common. I've been in significantly more serious situations in my life and been calm, collected, and cool. Today, for whatever reason, that was simply not in the cards. The concluding results are a useless right pinky for the time being, and a healthy fear of light bulbs. I Googled this fear and they have yet to name it.

It also turns out that Mr. Lamp had already become more trouble than it was worth. The thing is old so of course takes special bulbs which are no longer manufactured and it turns out that these bulbs enjoy spontaneously exploding. Don't buy an outdated Ott-Lite or, as in my case, accept one as a gift.

I also shouldn't join the bombs division of anything bomb related.

Lastly, typing without using your right pinky is quite annoying.

le sigh
-M

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