Ex Sanguine Nation
Three tales of blood loss and nastiness.

1.As a tyke I had serious nosebleed trouble. Once, in the (new) car, I started dripping, and was told to hold my head back so as not to befoul the interior, resulting in substantial amounts of blood running into my stomach. How much? We found out about three hours later, right after we got home, but before I could open the car door. A bit of a warning gurgle was all the advance notice I got before hurling a good two pints of runny black pudding all over the (cream colored leather and fabric) interior of the car.

Next day they sent me to the doc to get my nose cauterized with a hot metal rod like they shoved up king whatisname's bum. I made a private vow to never take up with a sodomite who is unpopular with my people.

2. After knee surgery it looked like they had sewn a muskmelon into my leg. I complained, as I assumed this was why it hurt like the proverbial mother. Standard post-operative swelling, nothing to worry about, stop being such a pussy - all the usual take-it-like-a-man bullroar.

In comes Mr. Dr. in his sparkly white coat and his hand made Italian leather shoes (with pants in between, IIRC) to look at my newly demeniscusated knee. He has me stand and, while squatting in front of me and closely examining the four-inch incision, asks me to "put a little weight on it."

I do. There is a funny, wiggly feeling in the muscles surrounding the knee, and then an immediate release of the pain and pressure as the stitches break and Mr. Dr. in his sparkly white coat and his hand made Italian leather shoes (with pants in between) gets sprayed from head to toe with freshly liberated knee-blood.

As I was only 13 at the time, and I thought he was a bit of a humongous twat, I found it humorous. Even more so when he slipped and fell on his expensive ass. The shrieking writhing pain and emergency sew-up without anaesthetic was almost worth it.

3. Went to a football match, friend stepped on a broken bottle and the glass lanced right through his foot and out the top of his shoe. He had me pull it out, and I got hit by a spray of blood that drenched my shirt and pants. After getting him to E.R. I managed to get a ride home, where I was met, three hours late and covered in sticky half-dried gore, by my parents. My dad looked me over and calmly asked, "Did you win?"

I would apologise for length, but as long as I walk on tippy-toes it doesn't drag the ground.
(meatybrain, Thu 14 Aug 2008, 14:07, Reply)