Last night I sliced the h-e-double-hockeysticks out of my left thumb. I literally left puddles of blood all over the house in my attempt to change bandaids throughout the evening. It was like a crime scene. I momentarily considered going to the ER for stitches, before the reality sunk in that all the people with non-digit (aka actually serious) injuries would be seen first, and I’d likely waste 4-6 hours waiting for thread to be painfully woven into my flesh.
You can understand why I chose to, instead, kill two boxes of bandaids at home.
Pardon the TMI here, but the bleeding just would not stop. When it finally came time for bed I was still completely wired as a result of all the blood sighting (I’m a queasy little doe) and my PM cacao creations. A girl can only blame herself here, for the theobromine fix late in the evening that is, but seriously, I can’t seem to quit my healthy cacao concoction habit. At least there’s antioxidants pulsing through my high as a kite body. Hi I don’t do stimulants, can you tell… I digress.
As I was trying to inch myself towards lights out, I noticed I was bleeding through yet another set of bandages. Cool beans, dude. At this point I’m seriously concerned my thumb is going to bleed all over my fresh sheets and cream pillowcases. So I bandaid the funk out of it and called it a night.
Well, little miss Cacao Queen here bandaided her poor swingnone (my word for “finger” as a toddler) straight into oblivion. The circulation was literally struggling to make it to the thumb. Which I didn’t realize in a timely manner. Plus side? I managed to stop the bleeding after six hours. Down side? I couldn’t sleep at all. Oh, the throbbing…the miserable, frigging throbbing…
I tried propping my hand up on my headboard (seriously, don’t laugh). I tried resting it over my head, I tried burying it beneath my other hand, under the pillow, under my body. I tried talking menacingly to it, trying to intimidate it into remission. I tossed and turned and whimpered. I got up. I lay back down. I turned on the light. I checked the time. I counted the less than six, five, four hours I’d be getting before the alarm went off. I shook my wounded thumb madly in the air, cursing the kitchen knife (and user error) that landed me in this predicament!
I was to wake up at 5am and go to yoga, my Tuesday morning ritual, have a nice hot shower at the studio and make it to work with plenty of time to eat my yummy brekkie before clocking in.
Well, in the middle of the night I came to the dire conclusion that I had to really investigate this bloody, throbbing finger situation (if throbbing could even adequately describe my thumb having taken on its own agonizing heartbeat). Fully prepared to hit up the ER at this point, I stumbled into the who-knows-what-o’clock, blinding light of my bathroom and unwrapped my pulsating, “it’s aliiiiive” swingnone.
What I found was a white, bordering on purple, finger with no feeling whatsoever in the upper portion. Slightly bizarre considering the excruciating pain I’d been in. Unwrapping it and waiting a moment (a moment in which I lightly prodded quizzically at the creepy looking flesh, certain it’d resume its fountain of crimson any moment) actually provided immense relief. The bleeding was momentarily stopped so I wrapped the trauma scene back up and hauled myself into bed.
I woke up at 4am to pee and was frankly ready to start my day. Just another hour of shut-eye, I thought to myself. Normally I’m an 8 hours of sleep minimum girl but, for some reason, I was totally prepared to rock it on 6 hours today. Which leads me to the disappointment of…
…waking up to see it’s light out. Thankfully my eye pillow had come off in my tossing and turning, allowing the light to stream in through my pitious curtains.
Oh how strange, it’s usually pitch dark at 5am, that’s unusual, I sleepily thought to myself. The senselessness of the thought quickly registered and, upon double take, I saw that the clock read ten past seven. What the SUGAR!!!
I’d slept through my alarm.
I have never done that in my life.
Not only had I missed yoga, which I was soooo looking forward to, but I’d also managed to wake up a good ten minutes after I needed to leave the house for work.
I did take a moment to thank the Universe for knocking my eye pillow off and kicking my internal clock into gear, but then that moment passed and then the curse words came, kind in the way the blood had spurted haphazardly from my thumb the night before.
I tugged on my button cap, flew into some semblance of an outfit (both of which I oddly raked in probably two dozen compliments on today…hey, I guess the Universe gives ya a break where She can…), grabbed my food for the day and ran out the door.
My next door neighbor happened to be sitting outside with one of her little ones as I flung my belongings into my trunk, and she caught wind of my batshit crazy pace.
“I was supposed to leave at 5:30…” I managed.
“…ah,” she nodded. She’s a real no-nonsense gal, which I like. ‘Cuz I’m all about the nonsense. “You won’t even remember this day in 10 years.”
…wow. Boom. The penetrating truth of that statement has been sinking in, deeper and deeper, with each passing moment of this day. It’s frankly what got me through the morning. Shook me back into my yogic state of, “everything happens for a reason.”
She was so right, and it was no accident that she happened to just be randomly sitting on her front steps outside her gate at 7-something in the morning, not doing anything but sitting there…the Universe laid it all out. It didn’t even fully process until later just how profound that sentence was. My face registered my appreciation of her statement, even though my mind was still racing to say yeah but yeah but yeah but!
“Plus,” she added as I was climbing into the driver’s seat, “your body probably thanks you for the extra sleep.”
Yeah, there’s definitely that.
I pulled out of the driveway, momentarily calmed by her words. Then I glanced at the clock again and the curse words caught up to me.
As I drove to work I broke one of my golden rules. I ate breakfast behind the wheel.
I know, I know, the horror…a nutrition advisor, a mindfulness mentor, eating behind the wheel?! No bueno. I know. But a girl’s gotta do what a girl’s gotta do.
I’ll save y’all the savagery that both the freeway and backroads unveiled and just tell you I clocked in 40 minutes late.
I was hardly awake, hadn’t had my morning yoga practice (which is rare), and I felt a little like my face was on backwards.
I told everyone my sob story at work (mostly because I was afraid they’d think I was lying if I didn’t tell every person the truth, but also because I just tend to do that) and was fully expecting the day to go miserably. What shocked my little socks off, though, was that circumstances were quite the contrary.
I felt so human.
Now, let me say that I come into contact with people on a daily basis who are having bad days. I get to see them for just an instant of time, often when they’re rushing like mad and trying to multi-task early in the morning. I hear them say things like, “I’m not even awake,” and, “I just need to go back to bed and start over.”
I commiserate, but frankly, I rarely feel that way (which I attribute less to my competence as a human being and more to the fact that I just so happen to be a morning person).
This morning was different, though. I had become one of those people. The one who wasn’t awake, felt like her face was on backwards, slept through her alarm, whose plans were totally bunked and who would love nothing more than to crawl back into bed and get a do-over. I felt myself connecting with people who felt the same way, when normally I’m just the sympathetic head-nodder, the friendly face who “aww’s” at their story and wishes them well for the day. Today I was one of them.
I found myself being even kinder and gentler with people, but also with myself. I wished people well but they wished me well back. We were in the same boat. The same rocking, sprung a leak, not going to make it on time boat.
I genuinely felt a profoundly positive impact on my humam interactions as a result of everything having gone “wrong.”
Like I said, I also got a bazillion compliments on my pulled-together-in-12-seconds-outfit (bizarre but appreciated nonetheless), and I even felt more at ease just knowing that my perfectionism is not the have-all-be-all.
Sometimes, the Universe just has alternate plans for us.
As I drove to work I thought to myself, maybe this happened to save me. Maybe the Universe intervened, in bigger ways than I can understand. Maybe, had I woken on time, I’d have been in a car accident on my way to yoga…or injured myself in class…or, or, or…
I developed the mantra: Must Trust Must Trust Must Trust. I told myself what I always tell my clients and friends, alike. That it’s happening as it should. Butterfly effect type stuff. If it had happened at all differently, everything else would also have happened differently. So who are we to ever question how it all goes down?!
I consoled myself with the fact that, in ten years, I won’t remember this day. If I do remember it, it will be for the lessons I learned; the lessons you’ve just read about. I will continue to trust I will continue my mantra…must trust must trust must trust. I will continue to tell myself, my friends, my family and my clients what I truly believe to my very core…
When things don’t go “right,” trust that the Universe is divinely orchestrating them so that they’ll go better.