I was ten years old when I was scarred for life. It was the night of July 20th, around 10:00 when I decided to play with my jump rope. During this time my jump rope was one of my favorite possessions. So, one can imagine how devastated I was when I discovered a knot in it. I tried for several minutes to untie it, but I ran out of patience after about the first five. As I scanned my room for something I could use to untie this wretched knot, my eye fell upon a recent gift from my grandpa. It was an antique metal knife with a brown handle. I figured there was probably a 50/50 chance I would cut myself, but then I thought,” Psh, I’m very responsible. There’s no possible way that I, Jillian Prince, could cut myself.” I then proceeded to flip open the knife. The light reflected off the blade, displaying the bits of rust. I positioned the rope under the knife and started to saw upwards. It’s not very hard to predict what happened next.

The knot I was using as a handhold slipped and I cut upward with the knife. The blade sliced through my left pointer finger. Do you know the expression, “calm before the storm?” I breathed a sigh of relief as I inspected my finger and saw no visible damage. Being the smart kid I was, I picked up the knife to resume the task I had not yet completed. As soon as I had the knife in my grasp, I discovered that my left hand was covered in blood. I was shocked for a moment, then I realized my “inspections” hadn’t been so thorough. I rushed to the bathroom to wash my finger off and tried desperately to be quiet, as to not arouse any suspicion, for I was sure to be in trouble if anyone found out how foolish I’d been. Everytime I wiped my finger clean of blood, a whole new wave of blood appeared. I grabbed a small Snoopy band-aid, sure that this would solve the problem. I was wrong. I realized pretty quickly this wasn’t a problem that could be solved by a flimsy band-aid. My last option was my parents. As soon as I showed my mom the wound, she realized faster than I did that this was no small cut.

My mom rushed me to the E.R. I was met there with the most horrible smell. The smell of hospitals. My mind was then filled with the image of sick people. They were packed in the waiting room like sardines in a tin can. After what seemed like hours, I was called in by a somewhat nice-looking lady. She led me to a room that smelled even worse than the waiting room. There was about 10 minutes of awkward tension as she inspected my finger. Then came the moment I was dreading.

“How did you cut your finger?” She inquired. I then had to explain in detail the events of that night. My mom let out a disappointing sigh.

After this embarrassing turn of events, and a disapproving look,  she left the room, and was replaced by a friendly-looking doctor. He was more gracious about the incident, and told me it wasn’t the first time he had seen a kid my age cut themselves while playing with a knife. Using a great amount of self-control, I refrained from saying the thought that passed through my head. “I wasn’t playing with the knife, I was merely trying to untie a knot. Big difference, buddy.” I figured I should use the same amount of grace towards him that he had shown to me.

Long story short, I didn’t have to get stitches, but I did have to have the wound glued shut. For anyone who hasn’t had medical glue applied to their finger, it basically feels like hot glue. So after a long process of putting on glue, letting it dry, then putting on more glue, was able to go home. But before this, he wrapped my finger in white bandage and put a metal thing on it that held my finger up so I couldn’t bend it.

I had never felt more ashamed. Just to rub salt on the wound, I was going on a cruise the next day, and I couldn’t swim for the first two days of my trip. Fortunately, this was during the summer, so I didn’t have to face the humiliation of telling my classmates what happened.

There was a lot of lessons to be learned from this. Ask if you need help with something and, don’t try to be the hero and do everything yourself. But the most important lesson I learned was, don’t play with knives. It doesn’t pay off.