I'm terribly sorry to hear about your hand.
Oh, you're probably not.
We were watching Saturday Morning Cartoons. There was an argument about whose turn to pick the channel (Sister picked an hour-long show, _I_ deserved two half-hour shows after that. Simple math, here!).
I was winning the debate...straddling my sister, beating her head into the carpet.
I shifted my grip, and a finger stuck into her mouth. So i essntially used her teeth to guillotine my middle finger on the next beat.
Dad heard a scream, came in. I've got a bloody fist cradled to my chest, sis has blood running out of her mouth, and all over her chest.
Dad took her to the ER. About two blocks away, she finally convinces him it's not her blood.
Came back for me.
Dad was the pharmacy dept head at our small town hospital, dropped me in one of the two ER rooms, went to look for a doctor.
A nursing student came in, found me, 11 years old, alone, towel wrapped around my hand. Asked what was wrong.
I got cut. (Not yet being comfortable with "partial amputation' that came later)
Well, how bad is it?
Pretty bad, i said.
Well, let's have a look.
She started to unwrap the towel. I said 'pretty bad' once more.
She got to the last flap of towel and had to tug it off, it was snagged on the jagged edge of what was left of that knucle bone.
Blood spurted. I got her hat, her hair, her blouse, her face... she screamed and ran.
The next nurse had been in Nam, IIRC. Maybe Korea?
She snapped, "stop bleeding on my floor!" And i remember saying, yes, ma'am. I believe i stopped bleeding, too.
8 stitches later, now every time i say anything like 'four more' and gesture, my coworkers lovingly say, "three and a half!"
And i flip them off, and they say, "why you shake your fist at us?"
Fuggheads....