I went to bed last night with a thumping headache, hoping that I’d be able to sleep it off. Sadly, it was not the case and it was still with me when I awoke this morning. I went out to get some things I needed and a cup of coffee, hoping that the fresh air, caffeine and/or breakfast would get rid of it. Sadly, that didn’t work either. So I came back home and took some painkillers. That did work.

But then, apparently, my brain decided that life was nothing without at least some form of physical pain, or at the very least discomfort, so decided to graciously allow me to lacerate my thumb whilst I was sorting out the bin bags.

As these things tend to be, it was a particularly rubbish and tiny cut which looked far more impressive than it actually was by the amount of blood that decided to bubble up from within it. I ran it under the cold tap and the blood mixing with the water made things look even more serious and quite possibly fatal than they actually were.

In this situation, it’s around now that it’s time to panic. What if it doesn’t stop bleeding? What if you’ve inadvertently found the one essential artery in your body that is essential to survival? And whoever designed the human body put it in your thumb because surely no-one would be stupid enough to cut themselves on the thumb? So you flail around for a little while, not sure whether to keep your gushing (and still quite possibly fatal) wound under the cold tap, to wrap it in some tissue, to suck it (which might make you a vampire) or to go in search of a plaster.

I opted to do three of the above. I rinsed it, temporarily wrapped it in tissue whilst searching for a plaster (in fact, hoping that I had a plaster somewhere in the house as I didn’t fancy walking to the shop with such a terrifying wound) and then finally managed to inexpertly dress said wound. Job done.

Injuring yourself is doubly terrifying when you’re alone. What if it really doesn’t stop bleeding? What if you pass out? What if you bleed to death on your own floor? Who would find you? More importantly, who will you moan at until they offer sympathy?

If someone else is nearby when you injure yourself, it’s twice as likely you’ll make a big deal out of it. Cutting yourself when you’re alone will often result in an “Ahh! Fuck!” under the breath and little else. But suffer an equivalent injury when someone else is nearby and that whispered profanity becomes a full-blown wail of pain. And God help the other person if they don’t respond immediately to your tortured cries. Even though they’re clearly busy doing something else and you don’t actually need them to do anything because your other hand is still just fine and can reach the plasters and dress the wound and you probably won’t need an ambulance but seriously it kind of hurts and ow. The sympathy is good. Possibly not worthy of a hug, but at least worthy of the “inverted frown” look with the eyebrows, a vocalised “awww…” or, in extreme circumstances, an “are you all right?” You expect something. Otherwise the pain won’t go away. And in fact, the injury can’t heal until it’s had at least some sympathy directed at it. It’s like magic.

I’m fine, by the way. Unless there’s no entry tomorrow, in which case I’ve bled to death in my sleep.