Did I ever tell you guys about the time I was stabbed with a katana?
I was 15, it was the dead of night, and I had some swords. That should be enough, as anyone with a functioning imagination has already completed most of the unimportant details, but I will tell you the rest anyway.
When I was 15 I earned my black belt in Tae Kwon Do. To commemorate the event my mother got me a set of decorative swords. Don’t blame her, I was a smart kid most of the time. I know that there isn’t really a relation between Tae Kwon Do and Japanese swordsmanship, but whatever, they were cool. Stop nagging me about the details.
So one night during Christmas break I was up messing around in my room. I have always been an insomniac so 1 o’clock in the morning is when I like to do stupid things. Well it was about 12:30 when I decided to try out something I learned with my swords. It was a simple move. Slash, stop, turn… Slash, stop, turn. Not difficult. So I tried it. It felt really good. I was doing well. Now walking: Step, slash, stop, turn. Step, slash, stop, turn. “Dude I am awesome at this. I bet I could kill a samurai or a zombie like this!” So I did as I did and tried to get faster with it. Step, slash, stop, turn, step, slash, stop, turn, step-slash-stop-turn, step-slash-stop-turn, stepslashstopturn, stepslashstopturn, then… step, slash, turn, stop. Did you notice the change there? It was a significant flaw in the order of operations.
I came to an abrupt stop in the way that something stopped my sword other my will alone. I looked down to see what event had taken place. I could see my sword stabbed right through my favorite pair of shorts. That was the first thing I noticed, a hole right in the middle of the leg of my most comfortable pair just on the inside of my left thigh. Right through them. Then I saw it; a small red stream start to flow down my leg coordinated with a sensation of heat pulsing throughout my body.
“OH DEAR GOD! I JUST STABBED MYSELF IN THE LEG WITH A SWORD!”
What kind of an idiot actually does this? Then I pulled the sword out and it was the most… interesting… feeling I ever had. Just imagine the last time you pulled a blade two inches wide four inches out of your leg. It was kind of like that. Then the blood started gushing. I was terrified, but not for the reason you might think.
Mom had just had the carpets cleaned that day. My leg was gushing blood. In all honesty, the stabbing had happened so fast that there was very little pain and my only real thoughts were that if I couldn’t get all the way to the kitchen to stop the bleeding without getting blood all over the carpets, she is going to kill me. I suppose in hindsight I should have been much more concerned with the location of the artery I came literally within an inch of piercing. Yeah, I suppose Mom wouldn’t have actually killed me, but that might. So anyway, I began the long trek from my room to the kitchen. You can’t see it as you read this, but imagine me hobbling on my punctured leg as fast as I could in such a position so that the blood stayed only on my leg for the 7 miles between my room and the kitchen. That is really the best part of the story. You are just going to have to believe me on this one. I get to the kitchen and try to apply pressure to the wound and stop the bleeding. I’m proud of the fact that, amidst all the trauma and tribulation brought about by my self inflicted wound, I only lost two drops to the carpet. That’s pressure under fire there ladies and gentlemen. I was then getting the bleeding under control and for the most part it had then stopped. I thought to myself, “I wonder if I am going to need stitches for this.” I pulled the rag up and (gush). Yep, I am going to have to get stitches. I have to tell Mom.
So I hobble the 15 miles to my mom’s bedroom. Did I mention that she had also had minor surgery that day, too? This was really not the day to stab myself, but when is really? So I hobble into her room and I wake her up… like this:
“Mom I need you to wake up… Don’t turn on the lights!”
“What is going on?” she moaned
“Mom, the first thing I want you know is that, what we have here… is a learning experience.”
“Oh, what did you do!?” she exclaimed exasperated
I tell the story as if I am used to this sort of thing; calm, cool and collected, as I inform her of my situation. She tells the story as if I was a terrified kid half passed out on the verge of delirium. I bet it was somewhere in the middle. She turns on the light and looks at what I have done as I tell her the story. I took the washcloth I was using as a makeshift bandage off and the gaping wound started to gush again. She was shocked at first, but knew what to do. She is a nurse and had been for my entire life, so I was now in my safe place. She wasn’t too terrified and knew that I was relativity safe in my current situation, so I was calmed now too.
We went back into the dining room where we got an ace wrap and secured it tightly around my leg. From there I laid down and gathered myself as Mom went off into another room before we went to the hospital. I remember waiting there for what felt like an hour wondering what was taking so long. Now that I was safe, the adrenaline had subsided and the pain started to creep in. My leg was starting to throb and I was getting weak. I wondered what was taking Mom so long. I hobbled in there to see and it looked like she was reading a magazine!
“What are you doing!? I have a giant hole in my leg and you are just reading a magazine! Get me to the hospital!”
She was actually reading the insurance paperwork from her hospital to see if it would be cheaper to take me there (an hour away) instead of just go to the local hospital. I was kind of turning into a baby at this point and insisted on the quicker option for a misguided fear of my own demise.
So we got to the hospital, the only one in my sleepy little town of 2,500 people and I was talking to the nurse who stitched me up.
“Yeah, but at least you did it to yourself… and you weren’t drunk… and it wasn’t your wife.”
So that is my big story about the time I stabbed myself with a sword. I hope you enjoy.
Want a special bonus that readers of that one didn’t get? A video of me actually telling the story… while drunk!
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