I sewed through my finger. On Valentine’s Day of all things (yes, before you ask, the boyfriend did take me to the doctors to get it checked out. After he asked me why I sewed through my finger, of course). Other than feeling a bit silly in the ER not too much is wrong with it. Aside from the hole in my finger, anyway. I do get a nice course of antibiotics and a handy reminder that I should probably keep my tetanus up to date.
The funniest part though was everyone at the hospital wanted to know about my sewing. My doctor joked that he didn’t know that they made sewing machines anymore (I resisted getting a little snarky at this point, I really couldn’t tell if he was joking or not) but most of the nurses wanted to know what I was making and how long I’d been sewing. I got a lot of quick stories about home-ec classes in middle school, quilting grandmothers, and even a mother that cursed about hemming curtains. Except for the throbbing digit it was actually a little fun.
Anyway, considering I’ve been doing some kind of crafty something since childhood and this is the first time it had sent me to the doctor I’m doing pretty well. I’m also heartened by the fact that I’ve heard dozens of stories of sewers doing the same thing but none about anyone doing it a second time.
And if you’ve done it a second time, don’t tell me. I’m entirely fine with my delusions that my hobbies won’t bite back.
But seriously. Don’t tell me.