Sunday afternoon, I was typing away on my computer while Kendrick (very graciously) took care of a few of the dishes that had been piling up. Suddenly, from the kitchen, a crash: “Uhhh…uh-oh.” I went over to see which of our lovely plates had shattered, but then noticed that Kendrick was a bit pale, and sort of staggering. “Babe? I cut my hand and I can see…like…multiple levels of flesh.”
We wrapped his hand up in some towels, discovered our internet wasn’t working to tell us where a hospital that took our insurance was, made a few phone calls to HealthNet (which is apparently closed on Sundays – know the closest hospital that accepts your insurance, kids), and ultimately headed off to Lenox Hill on blind faith (I believe you can go to any emergency room, but you should try to go somewhere that accepts your insurance in case you’re admitted…correct me if I’m wrong!).
There was a bit of a comedic interlude when the doctor on call removed Kendrick’s homemade bandage and almost got squirted in the eye by a gushing (apparently severed) artery, but it turned out that it was quite simple to cauterize, no tendons were harmed, and we were back home in a mere five hours.