Bleeding Out

As I am apt to do, once every 6-8 weeks, I nicked my head shaving in the gym shower. Or any shower, actually. But usually I shower at the gym five times per week. 

I know it usually the millisecond it happens. It's usually painful, even for that millisecond, and I know the blood will flow. Usually there is an f-bomb dropped. 

Now and then, I feel the slice and nothing. No blood. Like I'm a Vulcan or something. Blood or not, usually the water on the shower provides another sting. And another f-bomb. Though if I'm thinking smart, I'll put my hand over the wounded area before going back under the spray. 

While my gym isn't cheap, I gotta say, their washer and dryer breaks down a lot. Which limits the towels that get passed out. I get it. Usually I use a small one for workout (I sweat.....a lot) and then a larger one for shower. The few times I use the steam room, I get two large ones. But knowing the towel supply has been rationed, I did not grab a small one yesterday. Normally, I'd have used that post shower to press against said wound. 

While the cut was tiny, clearly I hit something that supplies most of the blood to my brain. Or somewhere in my noggin. I dried off what I could without touching the head, wrapped myself in said towel and then made my way to the paper towel dispenser. Some poor guy staring at me but not saying a word.  Respect!

Oh, the bathroom was also under renovation, so there were literally no sinks. 

Flash forward 15 minutes - I'm getting gas. Bleeding. 

Flash forward 30 minutes - at my periodontal office for a follow-up. Bleeding.  The doc asking if I wanted a band-aid. I said it would clot soon.  It did not. 

Flash forward another 30 minutes - appointment done. bathroom stop to blot the smeared blood. headed to Panera to kill some time. 

As I walk from the car to the door, glove compartment napkin pressed to my head, I see I'm going to somewhat intersect with a woman going in. Now sometimes this is a me thing - I don't want to interact. At all. Having a door held for me, or her waiting for me while holding the door. So I pause and look around to kill time. She just stands there.......waiting. Holding. 

Then she sees the blood soaked blotted napkin. "Oh my g-d!. Do you need help?!!  Do you need me to call for help?????"  

My lord. It was a napkin with 90% of it covered by my hand. Hardly worthy of 911 or a life flight. 

I mean, yay, I guess thanks for taking the time and effort and showing concern. The delivery was a little over the top. People just inside the doors looking at the bloody freak show walking inside. 

I sat at Panera for almost another 30 minutes, using more napkins, and for too long. When I'd remove them I'd take the clotted blood leaving the cut open for more new bleeding. Then a 20 minute drive home. STILL BLEEDING. 

I didn't know I was a hemophiliac. I washed the site. Neosporined the site and slapped on the smallest bandage I can find. 

Now I get to repeat the scenario in another month or two.  YAY me!

Song by: Imagine Dragons