It’s the top of my hand…not my wrist.

It’s the top of my hand…not my wrist.

Have you ever, in the middle of an otherwise fucked situation, started laughing because you know that at some point, in a few months or years, that it’s going to make a great story? Yeah, that was me while strapped to a stretcher on the way to the mental hospital. Oddly enough, I wasn’t having any kind of mental breakdown for once and knew the whole thing was getting blown way out of proportion by my bitch ex-girlfriend.

I will take responsibility, I knew she was nuts and I knew that I should have stopped fucking her after I moved out. Clearly, I am the first guy to ever do some stupid shit in the name of good pussy. My second mistake was losing my temper and going to slash a painting of her that I had been working on. I was high on Weed and Oxy and missed my mark slightly. I sobered up real fast when I realized that I had slashed the shit out of the TOP of my right HAND (not my fucking wrist). It was bad and I knew that I needed stitches but I had no idea where to go or who to call so I fucked up again, for the third time and called her. Thank God I was on Oxy at the time because it was a nasty cut, even by my standards in the Kitchen. 

My rationale was that we could stop fighting for 20 minutes and she could pick me up and drop me off at a clinic and then go back to being a cunt. She told me to wait outside and that she was on her way so I tried to wrap my HAND and light another joint. It was a bit odd when, five minutes later an ambulance pulled up.

“That’s weird but whatever” I thought. Then the two squad cars pulled up and everyone was looking at me. “She wouldn’t have called 911, she’s not that much of a bitch.” I tried telling myself. When she pulled up and pointed me out I knew what was about to happen.

I got up slowly and smiling and raised my hands so they could tell I didn’t have a weapon.

“Guy’s this is a misunderstanding, I’m going to cooperate with you but I want to point out that it’s the TOP OF MY HAND, it’s bandaged and I am willingly seeking medical attention. Everyone just fucking be cool.” I told them as calmly as I could trying my best to hide the rage I was feeling towards my ex for pulling this shit. I knew that the best thing for me to do was to cooperate with these people and show them that I was not in anyway trying to harm myself or anyone else. It was my painting, my property. Would you arrest a homeowner who hurts himself with a chainsaw cutting down his ex’s favorite tree so he could put in a satellite dish?  

The ambulance ride was awkward. I was trying to crack jokes and they paramedics were trying to be serious. Due to protocol they had to tie me down which I wasn’t cool with but knew it wouldn’t help matters to argue. I was glad I had smoked a joint right before this happened but still just wanted to get the TOP of my HAND sewn up.

The oxy makes it blurry but from what I remember they dumped me in the ER with a chart and had me wait for what felt like several hours before a nurse came and stitched me up. Finally, a Doctor came in who seemed like he knew the difference between his ass and a hole in the ground.

I explained things to him as calmly as I could but by this point, I was really in need of a smoke and I even told him that. He asked if he could talk to my Ex and I told him that was fine, that it would only take a minute to see who was semi-fucked and who was completely shit bat crazy. Yes, I was betting my freedom on her stupidity. 

“Hi, this is Dr********, I’m calling from NAME OF HOSPITAL, about Seth…..yes, I see…..yes……okay…..yes, thank you….I understand…..okay I need to go…..yes thank you….okay I really need to go, goodbye.” was what I heard and God only knows what she was saying yet it was clear by the look in his eyes that he not only understood my plight, but could relate. 

“You are free to go Mr MacKenzie, but, can I say something off the record?” he said while shaking his head. “Sure, what’s up Doc?” I asked trying to hide my excitement at the thought of sweet freedom. “Stay away from that chick, I’m saying this as a guy, not a doctor, stay away from that” he replied with a sense of fear, as if her level of crazy had brought up repressed memories of his own ex’s. 

“Need a bus pass to get home?”  

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