THE WASHING-UP INCIDENT

I was washing up tonight when I suddenly noticed that the washing up water had turned a shade of pinky red, and my hands were horrifically, and suspiciously, orange...

I lifted them both out of the soapy water, only to see my left thumb was gushing with blood! That was what had turned the water! I’d cut it on a knife!

Pain surged to my brain as the deep red globules of B+ plasma splashed into the dishwater and blotched over the steadily pinkening plates. My eyes did a zoom-fade; I knew I was in trouble.

Survival instinct kicked in, almost as quickly as the pain. What would Bear Grylls do? Hover over the bubbles, dripping blood into the water? No. Whimper like a baby. Nope. Pass out from the blood loss? No way would Bear let himself do that; he’d run it under the cold tap and find a plaster (band aid). That’s what Bear would do. He’d keep it together. He’d keep cool no matter what.

So that’s what I tried to do too. On went the cold tap, under went the thumb. Full blast freezing water went spurting as my thumb coursed both blood and water into the sink. Like tomato juice it dribbled its way down to the plug while I gritted my teeth, cold water splashing up my arm from the tap.

I like how calm I can stay in an emergency situation. I think it bodes well, that I can have that collected air of confidence and cool pragmatism. Like Gene Hackman in The Poseidon Adventure, I can keep level-headed when everything is else is literally upside down. Like Bear, I will survive.

The blood was making me feel woozy a bit, so I quickly calculated how to get to the bathroom cabinet where the Elastoplast plasters (I hoped) were. The wounded thumb slipped out from the cold water and started throbbing in the fresh oxygen. Within seconds my hand was red again and dripping. I grabbed a dish cloth, wrapped it around the digit like a blue and white turban and made a quick ninja roll to the bathroom.

Call it a design fault, but it’s actually pretty difficult to open a plaster with one hand. Heart-thumping with the blood loss, eyes narrowing in determination, I ripped off the plastic packaging as best as I could, the wound still pulsating as I slid it out from the wrap. It was dry at least, and by now pink and sore - a U-shaped serration and a flap of raw skin, like the mouth of a tiny shark.

I grimaced, then stuck it tight. I’ve double-plastered it now too, just in case it starts bleeding through the night. 

It does still hurt but I don’t want anybody to think I’m not going to be alright. I’ll bear the pain, I’ll struggle through it, and I’ll survive, thanks to my quick reflexes, my training, and sheer resilience in the face of adversity. I did think about texting my friends and asking them to start a prayer chain, but I decided against it. Wouldn’t want them all worrying about me. And in any case, I don’t think Bear would have done that if he’d even lost a finger - well, it’s harder to text for one thing - and you know me: I’m Bear Grylls all the way.