Nine-Eleven times a Millionith; 0.000911

For me it's always easy to remember the moments of intense nervousness, full of adrenaline, and a need for action. Specifically I am talking about replaying emergencies and tense moments in my head. Especially those involving self-injury seem to be the most vivid, carrying with them their added urgency. Yesterday saw one such moment at the Vargo-Stockman household.

I had taken to the attic for some insulation repair. Our house is fine during the days as it is afforded shade by some large trees on the property. However, in the evenings, when the temperature outside begins to level off ours continues to rise. We've already taken measures like installing fans. We feel the problem lies in-the-sulation, as they say in the business, though some might say we have the in-solution to your heating and cooling problem.

In any event I had taken to the attic for some insulation repair. I had been up there for what I guess would be approaching an hour. I was fully equipped with gloves, mask, and even some glasses I couldn't stand to wear. Not prescription, as you might wonder after finishing the story. One thing I had not prepared for was head protection and as I leaned to get a tight space I felt my head hit the underside of the roof. I continued on until the cold, wet feeling of blood on my head drowned me.

I hopped out the attic as fast as I could and remember starting to breath harder. the sweat from being in the attic had already soaked my clothes an I peeled them off before I really knew what I was going to do. Also, I grabbed the phone and started a 911 call before I was finished with my pants.

I had the chance to glimpse myself in the mirror and continue to describe it as the cover of DMX's Flesh of my Flesh, Blood of my Blood album, though upon closer reflection it was not THAT severe. I finally arrived at the conclusion that a washcloth applied to the wound with pressure was a better solution than a shower.

By the time EMS, or EMT, or AMR (the ambulance) showed up the bleeding had stopped, I had already tried to cleanup some of the blood spots from the floor and had retrieved my vaccination card to check my tetanus booster. Not to say they were slow but just to say that I was calming down, the wound was not as serious as I had first thought, and that I was 'with it.' It turns out that scalp wounds bleed a lot and that was what really set me into a panic. The only thing the two woman paramedics really offered me was a ride to a hospital of my choosing. They didn't check vitals or even offer to clean the wound until I asked if they had materials to accomplish such a task. Instead of jumping in the glorified van for an expensive ride to the hospital, I asked to wait for my wife to get home. The medics checked with a supervisor and said it was fine if I choose not to go to the hospital but they could not leave until Lauren had arrived.

The next 10 minutes passed with an air of relief and palpable awkwardness. When Lauren walked in she said it looked like a scene from a porno flick with two young and uniformed harlots standing around the guy, vulnerable and shirtless. Of course, it couldn't have been further from that and I was glad to see she had come to my rescue and that they could leave. We never went to the hospital but everything turned out fine as I proceeded to milk the minute benefits of such a misfortune, like an afternoon bath.